


so here we are

by Tasia (ruikosakuragi)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, LivMiles, Past Abuse, Romance, Royai - Freeform, Sisters, Slice of Life, edwin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 85,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/pseuds/Tasia
Summary: Sisters AU (Olivier/Riza/Winry). The oldest one is so sure of everything, the middle has a terrible past, and the youngest tries to survive on her own volition. But the universe is unkind and isn't prejudiced to their struggles and determination as each strives to find a semblance of family in the wreckage they call home. EdWin. Royai. LivMiles.





	1. welcome home

**Author's Note:**

> Modern, Earth-based AU. The sister of a dear friend of mine inspired this.

**Inglewood, Los Angeles, 6:20AM**

The sound of birds chirping is long gone and is now replaced by the sound of gravel crunching as another car rolls by. In mere minutes, rush hour will start to pick up and traffic will soon be bumper to bumper. The smell of smog looms in and hits her nose, and it's something she can never get used to. The sun is finally peaking from behind the mountains, but the temperature outside already feels hot as warm breeze cross her face. No doubt it will be another scorching day as the touch of the sun's ray on her face prickles her skin. Sweat is rolling down her temple and her breathing is becoming ragged. The olive-green uniform and black vest she dons are weighing her down, and the heavy rifle she holds is numbing her hands. She loves being out in the field, but the anticipation is making her anxious. She inhales deeply before exhaling at the count of five, and she repeats a couple more times.  _One... two... three... four... five..._  Her heart is still racing, but her facial expression is calm and collected. She has a reputation to maintain after all.

A white and beige apartment in the middle of Crenshaw Boulevard has been monitored for at least the last hour. White trash bags and mangled furniture are lying around the patio, and it reminds her of the halfway house from back home. The paint on one side of the building is peeling, and there's blue graffiti next to the windowpane, giving off the impression of a rundown neighborhood. Rusted, metal bars are installed on all windows and the curtains are drawn, making it difficult to tell the situation inside. She's hoping that the inhabitants are still fast asleep as it will make their operation much easier to complete. She looks to the ground underneath her black boots, eyeing the dead patch on the grass where the apartment dwellers may have dumped their chemical waste, and she scoffs with disgust.

"Alpha team's in position. Copy."

"Bravo team's in position. Copy."

The ten hand-picked men and woman of teams Alpha and Bravo are wearing the same tactical gear as her, complete with round black protective gear on their heads. She looks at the DEA officer in charge, helmet tucked under his arm and brown sunglasses on his face. He sticks out with his bald head, shining under the sun, sweat dripping down his forehead as he slaps a hand onto it to wipe off the moisture. She glances at his fat ass, heavy breathing visible underneath his getup, and she can't help but feel a little scornful inside. She knows he's only there to command, his rank and title make sure he stays out of enemy line. Nevertheless she waits for his hand signal, letting everyone know that they can proceed with the raid.

Olivier glaces at her men. Everyone is in position, and she can feel adrenaline course through her, electrifying her body from head to toe. She brings her rifle closer to her face, index finger on the trigger, the buttstock of the rifle pushed against her shoulder. She treads lightly, making as little noise as possible, crouching her way to the apartment building until she arrives at the front door. She calms her breathing once more.

The DEA officer nods at her and at the man on the other side of the building, shouting to his walkie talkie, "Go, go!"

She kicks the front door in one swift motion and points her rifle towards a large, empty living room. No one's here. She promptly flicks her fingers and signals the uniformed men behind her to proceed inside. As they rush in Olivier recognizes the smell of disinfectant along with a heavy chemical odor linger in the room. Even after leading many similar operations in the past year, she still can't get used to the sickening scent. The stench is similar to one of rotting flesh, filling the nostrils and pricking at the back of her head like a thousand needles. She knows she will never get used to it.

The rest of her Bravo team quickly swarms into the building. The sound of feet stomping the floor fills the room. Officers spreading between the first and second floor are making loud, creaky noises on the floorboards. Olivier hears commotions coming from the second floor, someone shouting in a foreign language followed by the sound of glass breaking. She can hear the pounding of her heartbeat, excitement is building up, and she proceeds outside. This is her favorite part of the job.

"Suspect's on foot. I'm on it," she calls in.

" _Roger that."_

Exiting through the back door, she notices light footsteps nearby and goes around the corner of the building. She leans her back against the exterior wall, breath held in suspense. She closes her eyes momentarily, opening them as she exhales through her mouth. She glimpses at her target hiding behind the building across: a thin, young man with tattooed arms. Her target's constantly peaking his head out to analyze the situation, a black metal object in his hand, and she informs her team over the radio:

"Suspect is about five-three, mid-twenties, spider web tattoos on both arms, heading towards alley on 81st."

" _Copy that."_

Olivier swaps her rifle with a smaller gun for a quicker chase, an action she so often performs it feels almost automatic, before dropping her helmet to the ground. The man fires a couple of rounds at her, but she ducks just in time to avoid it, wincing her eyes as the sound of bullet pierces a hole in the wall.  _Shit, that was close._  She narrows her eyes at the firearm and recognizes it as the standard 1911 gun that holds seven rounds, and she breathes a quick sigh of relief. There are only a handful of times she was thankful that she took her studies seriously, and this is one of those instances. The target fires a few more rounds, and Olivier's counting the number of bullets fired over her head.  _One, two, three, four, five._   _He's got two more rounds left._  She hears the last two shots fired, one of them hitting the pipe on the side of the building, making a loud clanging noise as the bullet ricochets, and she knows that it's time to make her chase.

Her target tries firing another round, but the empty chamber only emits a clicking noise. Olivier hears a grunt as the man chucks the gun roughly to the ground, a loud thud as the object hits the dry soil, and he makes a run for the next building. She promptly runs after him, heavy boots stomping on the ground. The suspect's eyes widen when he realizes that she is merely a few feet away, closing the distance between them quicker than he anticipates. As she sprints toward him, she notices that he's trying to lose her by climbing up to the second story of a nearby apartment building, making the jump onto the balcony railing. He swings his hand, launching himself off the ground as he catches the bottom of the rails, feet dangling in the air. Olivier grunts as she catches up and jumps after him, her hands struggling to hold onto his torso. The man is swinging kicks at her, attempting to release her strong grip on his lower half, but her weight is slowly pulling him down as his hands are getting wet from the exhaustion. Olivier curls her hand into a fist, growling and roaring as she lands several punches to his side.

Her target screams in pain, the sound echoing in the empty alley, and his body falls to the ground in a loud thud, bringing her down with him. He scrambles to stand, but Olivier quickly sidesteps him, a sparring move she has perfected against her best friend, causing him to fall on his face with a muffled oomph. She gets up and straddles his lower back, pinning him to the ground. She takes out the handcuff out of her back pocket and quickly apprehends him before reading his Miranda rights, huffing and puffing from the chase,

"You have--the right to remain--silent. Anything you say can--and will be used against you--in a court of law. You have--the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford--an attorney, one will--be provided--for you. Do you understand--the rights I have just--read to you?"

"Fuck you!" he yells.

Olivier smirks as she hoists her suspect off the ground, gripping the handcuff on his hands tightly, causing him to squeal with fear. She calms her erratic breathing, relieved that she has finally ceased her chase, and she looks to the small stature of a man. His gaze is down toward the ground, not daring to look up at the blue-eyed officer who has just apprehended him. She can see that he was barely her height, back slouching as he squirms out of her grip. She hears brisk footsteps approaching from the alley behind her and she turns her head to see her partner and a couple of other officers in tow.

"We rounded the others up. This guy's the last one but looks like you got everything under control."

Olivier faces her partner, her body now cool and composed, and she replies smugly, "What do you take me for?"

"I knew you'd be fine. You're never one to rely on others." The man in the white ponytail smiles.

 

**LAPD Headquarters, 1:48PM**

"Great work today, Armstrong, Miles. That's the second successful bust this month. The DEA is very impressed and they're looking forward to working with us for the next operation."

"Thank you, sir," the two officers reply.

"Take the rest of the day off. You both deserve the break. Dismissed."

The two officers nod and leave the decorated office.

The moment Olivier and Miles step outside of the Chief's office, cheers erupt. It's so loud that Olivier has to muffle her ears with her hands. The twenty or so men standing in the large room are clapping in unison, the sound of fingers drumming on their desks are loud and rowdy. Olivier scans her eyes across the room. The lack of women in that room gives off a peculiar but prideful feeling, as if she's obligated to prove time and time again that she is just as capable as the men in the room.

"Good job, guys! You make us look good!" An officer whose name Olivier can't remember enthusiastically pats her shoulder. His yellow teeth are exposed on his face as he grins, automatically turning Olivier's expression into one of disgust. She hopes he doesn't see it.

"Drinks on me tonight?" another officer asks, a cocky smile on his face. He flexes his arm as Olivier looks at him with a serious expression. She scoffs and walks away from the man. How typical, she thinks, unfazed by his flirtatious advance. She supposes it's common in a male-dominated field, but it's definitely something she never seeks to understand. 

The same officer gives Miles a look and Miles nods at the officer, eyes narrowing as the corners of his mouth curve upward, "Sure. I'll try to get the queen to join us, but no promises."

He sees Olivier give him a puzzled look, disbelief cross her face as she realizes what her partner has said, "Why are you helping him?"

Miles smiles before replying, "You know I'm only saying that to get him off your back. Don't worry, I won't throw you into the pack of wolves."

She rolls her eyes, smiling in understanding, and Miles gently puts his hand on the small of Olivier's back and guides her out of the boisterous room.

The cold corridor of the LAPD headquarter is lined with framed portraits of their fellow officers, uniform worn proudly, toothy smiles on their faces. "To protect and to serve" is displayed underneath the photos. Olivier often reads the slogan whenever she passes through the hallway, reminding herself that in order to upheld justice one must be ready to make a sacrifice. In her case, she has to suffer discrimination in order to defend the city and protect its citizens. Sometimes she wonders how she inherited such a strong sense of justice, but she quickly realizes that she knows the reason: it is so that no one has to ever suffer again like Riza had.

Her partner walks beside her, his duffle bag with previously worn uniforms in hand. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his contact lens had been removed briefly before leaving the locker room. His amber eyes are even more noticeable with the spectacles on his face and it's something Olivier never fails to overlook. Sometimes she thinks she might get lost in it. He looks at her questioningly, piercing eyes darting left and right as if asking if she is okay without a single word slipping from his mouth. She nods, lingering a reassuring gaze on him. He glances at her as he proceeds to state her previous engagement correctly, "Let me guess, you're not coming with us to celebrate tonight."

He guesses correctly, and she supposes he will only get better at it the longer they work together.

"No. Riza's cooking for me tonight," she replies.

"That's too bad, but I understand. Just like every year on this date," he states matter-of-factly.

The dark-skinned man places a calloused hand on Olivier's back and it lingers there; the touch is sending shivers through her body. She looks up at him and sees a small, raised scar from an old bullet wound on the side of his face. Not many people know, but he once told her that he got it from a sting gone wrong several years back. She has never told anyone the story, of course, but she has also never told him how the scar enhances his features, making him look more attractive in her eyes.

The man also rarely smiles, which gives off the impression that he's cold and reserved, but Olivier knows better. She had four years to figure that out. Miles had been assigned as her partner when she transferred. With impressive aptitude in the field and one of the highest arrest records, the Chief of Police had requested that he mold Olivier into the same outstanding officer. Olivier knew, though, that the assignment was born out of convenience. A vacancy had to be filled when Miles's old partner quit the precinct for an unknown reason. The then twenty-five year-old Olivier had been wary of her partner, considering her experience working with a sheer number of policemen who thought women were incapable of becoming competent police officers. However, she was pleasantly surprised to learn that Miles was not the ordinary officer she normally encounters. From day one, he has shown her respect and treated her as his equal, something she had not fully anticipated. He even fulfilled the Chief's request by helping shape her into a commendable officer, and in many ways she was grateful and _pleased_ for his presence in her life.

She looks at her partner curiously as he dips his hand in his jacket pocket, taking out a small purple velvet box. He gently takes Olivier's hand and places the item on her palm.

"Happy early birthday. I know you're off tomorrow, but I want to give this to you," he smiles softly.

Olivier glances at the purple box, heart beating loudly as she contemplates the meaning of the gift. The feel of the velvet is smooth on her skin, and she slowly opens the box, gulping with hope and anxiety. Inside she sees a necklace with a heart locket carved with her first initial in the center, and it looks as though he has had the item specially ordered just for her. As she stares at it, she wonders if he can see her complexion turn a darker hue as heat creeps up her face. She notices small studded diamonds line one side of the heart, and she caresses the white gold pendant, liking how the glitter accentuates the beautiful necklace under the fluorescent lighting. And again, she ponders over the meaning of his gesture. 

"Look, I know what you're going to say, but please take it. I bought it  _for you_ ," her partner replies, pleading tone in his voice.

Olivier's eyes crease, and her cheekbones are slightly raised, the corner of her mouth tugging upward into a weak smile. Her rosy lips form a small 'o' and she stares at the item speechless as she interprets his words. Her stomach ties in a knot, and her heartbeat is pounding loudly in her ears, muffling other sounds around her.

"An-And Lilian?" she croaks.

Miles doesn't answer. He looks at her before putting both of his hands on her palm, closing her fingers around the box. A shiny silver band on his ring finger glitters and Olivier stares at it unabashedly. Her mind tells her to return the necklace, it would be the right thing to do, but her heart is telling her to keep it. Before she's able to form a sentence her partner walks away, leaving a tongue-tied Olivier in place, velvet box still in her hand. She looks at his back, admiring how broad his shoulders look, and glances at the treasured item on her palm. She smiles to herself, putting the box in her pocket before catching up to him in a jog.

 

* * *

 

**Variety Building, Downtown Los Angeles, 9:00AM**

Phones are ringing, copy machine noises are heard from the storage room, mumbled chatters inside meeting rooms travel through the open office space. The blonde-haired woman with bangs covering her left eye sighs. Another Monday at the office, she thinks. She casually walks to the break station a few steps away, swiping the coffee mug on her desk. Her hair is in a neat ponytail, ironed white dress shirt on, and black pencil skirt drops just slightly above her knees. Her back is straight, chin is up, and her strides are with purpose. The two-inch heels she wears only accentuate her slim figure.

“Good morning, Jean. Becca.” The blonde looks at her colleagues with a smile. She grabs the coffee maker and lines the brew basket with filter before pouring ground coffee inside. She grabs a couple of mugs from inside of the cabinet and hands one over to the brunette and the other to the spiky-haired blonde. Her movements are fluid and practiced. Almost robotic.

“Hey, Riza. How are you so cheery this morning… it’s freakin’ Monday,” Rebecca replies, eyes narrowed at the carafe, watching the dark liquid slowly drop. The brunette takes the cup from Riza’s hand before grabbing a couple of creamer from the countertop. Her dark, tired eyes expertly covered with makeup, pink blush gracing her cheekbones.

“Seriously. My weekend feels so short. All I did was Netflix and chill,” Jean says, puffiness under his bright blue eyes. He has stubble all around his jaw, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Jean, do you even know what Netflix and chill mean?” Rebecca retorts.

“Yeah, it means you sit on your ass and watch TV all day.”

“No idiot, it means you call someone to come over and have sex with you.”

“Oh, no shit?”

Riza chuckles at the banter between her two friends. Riza met Rebecca at the company orientation four years ago when the two were just fresh college graduates. They were hired on the same day and have been friends ever since. Rebecca’s infectious laugh and penchant for gossip had caught Riza off guard, and she was pleasantly surprised to learn that Rebecca could engage her in a conversation that lasted more than five minutes. A trait that Riza always wishes she had.

“Becca, why don’t you show Jean what Netflix and chill is?” Riza laughs.

“You think I find this _thing_ attractive?” Jean scoffs.

“Hey, shut your mouth.”

Jean, who had been working at the company only two months longer than the two, is a nice addition to the group, acting like an older brother to Riza and a dickhead to Rebecca. Vulgar jokes and inappropriate comments are commonplace between the two, and Riza always resorts to playing the mediator. But Riza knows he only does that because he’s interested in Rebecca, not that he would admit it. Throughout the years, the three of them have become each other’s support system in the heartless, domineering corporate world. They complain together, insult their bosses together, and they drink their hearts away together. It makes one wonder if it’s even remotely possible to find joy from working the nine to five hours.

Riza leans against the countertop, casually chiming in on the conversation between the two about their weekend and dinner plans. The smoky aroma of the dark liquid hits her nose and she hears the coffee maker beep only seconds after. Riza takes the pot in her hand, pouring coffee to the three empty mugs sitting in front of her. She sips on her coffee, enjoying how it tastes on her lips on a Monday morning. The much needed caffeine will slowly kick in and keep her awake for at least the next four hours of her day. She had stayed up several hours past her bedtime the night before to finish another page of her manuscript and she knows she still has much more to write before it’s complete. Riza hears footsteps approaching and she turns her head in that direction.

A tall, muscularly built man passes the three at the break station and stops in his track. A small, black eyepatch covers his right eye. Rumors about how he damaged his eye often circulate within the company. He got it while going hunting, one says. No, he got it in a car accident when he was a kid, another would say. No one is certain how it came about, but everyone agrees that the eyepatch only serves to intimidate those around him, giving off the aura of an authoritarian leader. And true to his representation is the man. As the head of a very successful real estate development firm, King Bradley expects his team to perform with utmost proficiency.

“Riza, the new director’s in my office. Join me when you’re done here,” Bradley interrupts.

Rebecca and Jean become quiet, and Riza ducks her head toward her friends, mouthing a quick apology, before trailing behind Bradley in step.

The walk to Bradley’s office is quiet and long, but Riza’s mind wanders to her dinner plans with Olivier. Her sister’s birthday is tomorrow, but they will celebrate tonight, just like every single year since four years ago. As they approach the largest office on the floor, she can see the silhouette of a man sitting on the sofa on the half-frosted window. She straightens her skirt as they enter.

“Riza, this is Roy Mustang. He’s going to be your new boss.”

Riza extends her hand to shake the man’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mustang. I’m Riza Ha—Armstrong. Riza Armstrong.”

The man opposite of her shakes her hand firmly, friendly expression on his face, “Nice to meet you, Riza. Call me Roy, please. And I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Riza notices how his slicked black hair is slightly ruffled, as if it refuses to stay in place. She looks at his face and reckons that he can’t be that much older than her, but as she attentively listens to the conversation between Bradley and him, Riza realizes that he’s got a good number of years of experience under his belt. He speaks eloquently, displaying a respectful manner, and he would casually throw in how grateful he is to be working at such a great company. The firm handshake and his persuasiveness show an ambitious and intelligent man, and Riza couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a boss he would make.

“Riza, can you show Roy his office?” Bradley commands.

“Of course, sir. Roy, if you would please follow me.”

Riza bows slightly, palm up towards the door, gesturing for him to exit the office first.

“So, you’re the executive assistant they mentioned in the interview,” he casually comments.

“Yes, that would be me.”

“Bradley told me you handled the whole thing with Raven pretty well. How did it feel like to be working under a criminal?”

Riza chuckles, amused at the question, “Well, I’m just glad he’s going to jail. He deserves it after pulling that stunt with the company stock.”

“And he wouldn’t be in jail without you. You’re doing for the company a great service,” a genuine tone accompanies the smile on his face.

“Oh, thank you. My sister always tells me to do the right thing, so I did.”

They approach Raven’s old office, which has now become Roy’s new office. She adds, “I’m just two cubicles to the right. Please let me know if you need anything.”

He nods at her before giving her another smile. Riza thinks she feels her heart skip a beat, but she passes it off as the morning coffee being a tad too strong. She closes the door to his office and walks back to her cubicle, thinking that her new boss may not be so bad after all.

“So, how’s the new boss? He looks pretty cute, right? Right?” Rebecca snickers, strutting her way to Riza’s cube. Riza can feel her face turn a shade of pink but chooses to ignore her friend’s comment.

“He seems pretty nice. Not a hard ass like Raven was,” Riza replies nonchalantly.

“He looks young, too… I wonder what he used to do to get this high of a position…”

“No idea…” But the question has crossed her mind.

Not a moment passes by before Roy shows up in Riza’s cube, a pile of folders and papers under his arm.  

“Riza, these need to be stamped, signed, and sent certified mail before the end of the day. Priority. Stay overtime if you need to,” Mustang calmly drops the pile of work on her desk.

Riza’s mouth gapes, unbelievable expression her face, “To-tonight?”

“Yes, tonight,” he confirms.

“Wait, I have dinner plans tonight. It’s my sister’s birthday and I have to cook—”

“Just get it done, alright?” he cuts her off before walking away from her cubicle, hands in his trouser pockets, leaving a shocked Riza in place.

“I think you spoke too soon,” Rebecca murmurs.

Riza looks at the pile of work, both hands on her forehead, and she mutters quietly, “ _Bastard_.”

 

* * *

 

**Armstrong Residence, Pegasus Apartments, 10:17PM**

Her steps up to her apartment feel heavy. The dim, romantic lighting seems to exaggerate the distance from one end of the hallway to the other. She drags her feet lazily and climbs up the last set of steps, carrying the Chinese take out in her hand and hoping that Olivier wouldn’t chastise her for the depressing birthday meal. The grocery store’s no longer open by the time she leaves work, and nicer restaurants around the block have stopped serving food. Riza has to resort to the Chinese take out from China Wok, the most generic name a takeout place can have. She just hopes the food doesn’t taste as bland as the name.

She unlocks the door to her apartment to find an empty living room. She sets the food down on the kitchen countertop and grabs dinnerware from the bottom cabinet.

Their apartment is moderately sized, boasting two bedrooms, one bath, and an L-shaped kitchen in the center, but rent is exorbitant like many things about downtown living. The dark laminated wood floor against the beige colored walls complement each other. The silver specked granite countertop is uncharacteristic of Riza’s taste, but Olivier doesn’t seem to mind. Her sister has always been one for finer tastes in life after all. Amenities include a rooftop swimming pool and a gym one story below it, and while Riza thinks this is excessive, both of their salaries combine can comfortably afford luxuries like these. Besides, with only one car to share between the sisters, they need to compromise on the distance to and from work. Driving is almost a necessity in Los Angeles, unlike their old hometown a state over.

She hears the microwave beep and takes out the plate of chow mein and egg rolls before setting it down on the countertop by the bar stool. She hovers her hand over the food and feels the steam on her palm before walking over to Olivier’s room. She gingerly knocks and mumbles against the door, “Olivier, are you in there?”

She hears the creaking of mattress coming from the inside and she returns to the kitchen to plate the rest of the dishes. Olivier walks out in her pajamas, her blonde hair a slight mess and she rubs her eyes sluggishly while yawning.

“Sorry for coming back so late. I hope you at least got a nice nap?” Riza asks, strewing about the kitchen grabbing utensils and the like.

“It’s okay. I had a much needed nap. I was at the headquarter by 3am this morning.”

Riza puts the plate out in front of Olivier, “Happy early birthday. Hope you don’t mind some take out food. They’re the only place open when I left work.”

Olivier takes the plate and rolls the thick noodle coated in brown sauce with her fork, still looking groggy from her nap. “Thanks,” she replies. “That new boss of yours is such an asshole.”

Riza scoffs, “That wouldn’t even begin to describe him. He asks me to do Starbucks run three times today. THREE TIMES! He won’t drink the shitty coffee at work.”

Olivier retorts, “If he drinks Starbucks, that means he doesn’t have the best palate.”

Riza laughs inelegantly, a piece of egg roll stuck in her throat. Her fist softly pounds in between her collarbones, choking her slightly in the process. Olivier has always been frank with her thoughts, unlike Riza who’s a little bit more reserved and cautious with the things she says. She determines that Olivier definitely takes after their mom, just like their little sister…

Riza takes a big gulp before speaking the next thought from her mind, she can feel her face becoming hot, “Hey, so our plan for tomorrow… I’m thinking about calling and asking her to meet us there… I know she’s in the area—”

“No,” Olivier interjects.

“But she should be there,” Riza adds, less hesitant this time.

“No. And you should know to never bring this up.”

“Why? It’s been long enough.”

“You know why.”

“But she’s our sister!” Riza raises her voice, unexpected angry tone coming from her mouth.

Olivier glares at her, pushing her plate away, “It’s her fault and you know it.” There’s finality in her tone.

Riza quiets, poking at the uneaten food on her plate. Her appetite’s squelched in an instant. Awkward silence permeates the air and Riza thinks it’s best that she apologizes, “Sorry.” She feels tears well up in her eyes, ready to spill over. She misses her. She misses her _a lot_. But she knows Olivier is not one to budge and that what she says is absolute. It’s always been like that. Ever since their parents’ death four years ago.

Riza stands up from the bar stool and walks to her room, her breath hitching. If she cries now she will make Olivier feel bad and she doesn’t like that. She feels she owes Olivier a debt of gratitude for unwillingly assuming the role of caretaker for her and her sister. She remembers how difficult it all had been, financially and emotionally. Riza is grateful for the sacrifice and she tries to show it as often as possible, but she wishes Olivier isn’t so black and white in her thinking.

Riza drags her feet to the small white desk in her bedroom. She opens her laptop and stares at the unedited draft. The white background of Microsoft Word is hurting her eyes and she rapidly blinks her eyes in response. She scrolls her mouse up and down before sighing, fingers creasing her forehead. She doesn’t think she can get anything done tonight, especially with so much emotion engulfing her now….

_Buzz!_

Riza’s jolted from her chair.

“Riza! Can you get that?” she hears Olivier shout to her from the other bedroom.

Her expression’s turning into a questioning look. She hasn’t been expecting anyone and she wonders if it’s the nice security guard dropping off their mail again. But looking at the time makes her wonder if that’s even the case.

She leaves her room and the cold floor makes her tiptoe on her feet as she walks to the foyer, still wondering who this uninvited guest is. As she closes one eye and stares into the peephole, her heart skips a beat. Her hot breath bounces off the door and hits her face. _It can’t be_. Surprised expression on her face, she quickly unhooks the chain and unlocks the latch, opening the door widely, “Wi-Winry?!”

A large briefcase and luggage are placed next to the young woman’s feet. Her long legs are revealed underneath the yellow, sunflower dress. Blonde hair is tied up high in a ponytail, leaving long locks of hair on either side of her face. She stands opposite of Riza on the other side of the door, tilting her head sideways smiling, “Hey sis, I’m home.”


	2. happy birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to everyone who left reviews/favorited/kudo’ed the first part. This chapter’s dedicated to ssadropout: I appreciate your support and the continuous encouragement to keep writing <3\. I hope you enjoy this one.

“Wi-Winry?! You’re here!”

“How are you?” says Winry casually, the corners of her mouth curve upward, her head slightly tilting toward her shoulder. Riza couldn’t distinguish the expression on her face, but she doesn’t notice any signs of discomfort in the tone of the question and she prefers that it stays that way.

Riza’s lips quiver as she stares, and in the spur of the moment she lunges herself toward Winry, arms wrapping tightly around her body. The overwhelming sense of joy sends fire through Riza’s body, melting away her reticence. Her embrace speaks volume: she clings to her shirt, face buried in her sister’s hair, and her fingers are pressed so closely on her back that it looks as if she is clawing at her with desperation.

Winry is taken aback by the gesture, her slim body slightly shaken at the grip, but she gently returns the hug and tucks her chin on the crook of her sister’s neck. She exhales a breathy contentment and recognizes that the form hugging her shares the same feeling as hers.

“Oh Winry, I miss you. This is such a pleasant surprise! Do you want to come in? Please, please come in.”

Winry bends her knees, her hands grabbing the handle to each of her luggage set to her left and right. Her feet wobble through the doorway, struggling with the weight on either side. Riza grabs one of the bags from her hand and lugs it inside, setting them by the foyer. She notices how thin Winry has become as she lifts the large item in front of her body. Her arms seem almost skeletal, her fair complexion looks dull, and her gaunt expression shows through her smile. Her beautiful sister looks so fragile; her youthful energy that was once exhibited so effortlessly seems to have been sucked out of her.

Riza tries to take hold of her luggage, but she shakes her head letting her know that she is fine. Riza notes that the luggage looks almost bigger than her sister and she can’t help but wonder if Winry is planning on moving in with them.

“This is a nice place, Riza,” Winry drops her luggage against the wall and takes in an earmark of the apartment with curiosity. She struts with ease and her tone is relaxed. As far as Riza’s concerned, this is a good start. “Although the living room could use some sprucing up. There’s so much grey…. And maybe splotches of dark blue. Only the wall color feels kind of warm.”

“That’s so like you to say. You’ve always liked the warm colors. Well, the apartment came in beige, but you know Olivier likes the cool hues. She said it makes the apartment look more modern,” replies Riza with a chuckle, “I guess I agree with her,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

The door at the end of the hallway opens suddenly, the hinges creaking, and the footsteps that leave the room are setting Riza’s heart racing, anxiety showing on her face. Her mouth opens, and a word is forming in her mouth, but before she can say anything…

“Riza, who’s tha—” Olivier stops in her track, eyes widening from the surprise that the whites around her blue seem ready to pop out of her sockets. Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth gapes and her full lips drop, angry expression replacing one of shock. She curls her fists so hard that Riza can see her knuckles turn white. Her jaw is tight, teeth clenching, and Riza could have sworn she hears clacking sound coming from it.

Winry stands still. An air of discomfort rapidly invades the space. Fear strikes her expression momentarily as shown by the gaping of her mouth, but she looks back at Olivier, biting her bottom lip.

“Winry! Well, fancy having you here. Let me guess, you’re here because you need money?” Olivier accuses, “No? You got kicked out? Pinako finally at the end of her wits taking care of you? I’m surprised she even bothered taking you in in the first place.”

Riza’s breath hitches and Winry remains quiet.

“Or is it that boy you were seeing? That blonde haired one? Did he dump you?” Olivier charges.

The young woman’s silence slowly crumbles at the accusation; she is never one to back down after all. Her fingers are writhing next to her body, and she looks up at the woman addressing her. Her body is seething with exasperation and the tone that laces her voice shows no compunction at the allegations, “No! Pinako’s been sick! And—And I…”

“I need to get out,” Olivier cuts off and swiftly walks past the sisters toward the foyer, frustration and anger define her gait with each loud stomp of her foot. She snatches the set of keys from the coin bowl atop the shoe rack and unlocks the door. In one rapid motion she slams the door behind her.

“Olivier! You forgot…” Riza stammers, “you forgot your sweater...” Worry plasters her solemn face; her hands are still reaching toward the door as if doing so would stop Olivier from leaving. Olivier’s brisk footsteps slowly recede in the hallway outside and Riza sighs to herself.

“Sorry about that, Winry. Olivier’s just… she’s just had a long day,” Riza assures and yet the tone that comes out of her mouth sounds reluctant. She hopes Winry wouldn’t detect it.

“Don’t worry, Riza. I knew something like that would happen. Olivier never hides her feelings. And she has every right to be mad at me.…” Winry perches herself on the sofa, her hands flipping through the thick novel on the coffee table, “So you still read this stuff, huh?” Winry mumbles to herself. She focuses her attention on the black texts, reading the same sentence over and over, and yet none of the words make sense in her head.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Riza quietly walks to the kitchen. She is silent as she fires up the kettle, and her steps are so light that one can barely hear her move about the apartment. The only noise filling the room is the sound of steam hissing, followed by stainless steel spoons clanging against the edge of the tea cups and the constant sound of cabinet doors opening and closing.

“So, how have you been, Winry?” Riza asks, attempting to alleviate the tension in the air, but the timbre of her voice is filled with hesitation. Her sister looks exhausted as if she could collapse any minute, compelling Riza to swallow the questions she has been meaning to ask the blonde young woman sitting across the kitchen. The phone calls within the last year had been far and few in between but it didn’t warrant any spontaneous visit like today. Not in Riza’s mind anyway. Riza carries the tray of tea cups and sugar with shaky hands and sets it down on the coffee table. Rosy aroma is dispersing into the air. She takes her seat on the small, grey chair across from Winry and settles herself at the edge, feet planted firmly on the ground and hands clasped together.

“I’m doing… good,“ Winry starts, taking a cup in her hand, “I’ve been better, but I miss you. I miss you two. _A lot_. And I just, I can’t be there anymore….” she stammers, the tea cup in her hand slightly shakes as she continues, “So much had happened since the last time I saw you. Oh Riza, there’s so much I need to tell you….”

Riza tries to discern the tone in her voice; it sounds like a plea for help and each word uttered slowly eats at her heart. She places one hand on Winry’s palm, her stare fixed on her face, and she tenderly rubs the back of Winry’s hand with her thumb. The gesture is meant to be comforting. The familiar blue eyes staring back at her are as beautiful as she remembers, but they are not as radiant as they used to be. The way that they gleamed when she saw her last; full of energy and dreams and determination. Riza wonders what had happened in the two years they had been separated.

As Riza meticulously studies her expression she sees that Winry’s eyes are glistening, tears ready to spill over. Her thin lips are chapped, quivering, and they look even smaller as she folds her bottom lip into her mouth in an attempt to conceal her emotion. She wraps both of her arms around her bare shoulders, lifting her legs and folding them on the sofa, covering her yellow dress over them. Her frail body shivers from the cool air in the apartment.

“Wait here just one minute. Let me grab you a blanket,” Riza adds and she springs to her feet, leaving the room. She leans down the linen cabinet in the dimly lit hallway, hands cluttering among the pieces of bedding, and her thought considers upon Winry’s delicate frame and the timbre of sadness in her voice. Riza scrambles for reasons, for the logical aspects of the circumstance before her, and she becomes overwhelmed with fear. She can see the burden pressing on Winry’s shoulders, weighing her down like heavy buckets of water. Winry has always been strong, so easily ecstatic, and full of life. If she cries, then she must cry for a reason.

Riza grabs a large, navy blue fleece blanket from the cabinet and she hurriedly trots back to Winry.

“Winry, here’s the blanket—“ Riza pauses in her step. Her sister’s body lies on the grey sofa, her head resting on the armrest. She can see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, her mouth slightly open. Riza’s hearing, acute from the silence, allows her to distinguish the heavier inhalation from the airy exhalation. Winry’s arms are now loosely wrapped around her shoulders, worn out expression still gracing her features as evidenced by the mild swelling under her eyes. Although her eyes are now closed, the creases around them still hint of stress.

Riza unfolds the fleece in her hand and covers the entirety of Winry’s body, tucking in the blanket edges underneath her body. She glimpses at Winry’s limp body and moves her finger to gently tuck a strand of blonde hair over her ear. In a soft tone she mumbles to herself, “What happened to you?”

 

* * *

 

**Curtis Residence, Crescent Court Apartments, 11:26PM**

Olivier’s phone beeps as she dials her best friend’s cellphone number. She lifts the phone to her ear, hearing one ring, two rings, and on the third ring she answers.

“Izumi, are you home? I’m at the gate, can you let me in?” asks Olivier.

She shifts the weight on her legs from one to the other as she waits. The cold November air only strikes at night in this part of the state, and it’s sending shivers up her spine. The sound of cars speeding on the freeway remains throughout the day, but it is even louder in the dead of night. The street lights are bright here, giving her some sense of safety, and yet it doesn’t stop her from glancing around her surroundings for malice, movements she often performs simply out of habit. A light breeze blows against her skin and she wraps her numb fingers around her shoulders, rubbing up and down the bare portion; her thin cotton shirt barely keeping her warm. Olivier hears a buzzing noise from the intercom and the sound of the gate clicking, and she hastily grips the door handle to let herself in.

Olivier jogs through the paved courtyard, her mind constantly shifting back to the scene at her apartment. The image of Winry’s thin frame worries her and yet anger surges through her body, allowing rationale to escape her conscience. She raps her knuckles on the dark green door, her limbs stiff from the piercing temperature.

“Izumi. Sorry to barge in on you like this.”

“You know Sig’s out of town, so I can definitely use the company. Sit down, I’ll make us a drink.”

The black-haired woman grabs Olivier’s shoulders and pulls her past the door almost forcefully, her true strength hidden beneath slim figure. She swiftly closes the door behind her with a kick, and she snatches a wool sweater from her foyer closet and cloaks Olivier with it. Izumi guides her toward the living room, her belly slightly protruding, showing the life underneath her white buttoned up dress.

“Alright.”

Her best friend’s apartment is paltry compared to Olivier’s, but it exudes warmth in every corner. The living room wall is covered in light brown shiplap, wooden cabinetry on both sides of the fireplace contain a vast collection of books ranging from autobiography to a variety of subject in chemistry. One side of the sectional leather sofa dips in and looks worn out, which Olivier figures is where Izumi spends most of her time reading. Framed photos of Izumi and her husband decorate the walls, but it seems a small portion has been cleared to make space for additional pictures once their baby is born. As Olivier collapses her body on the sofa she smells the scent of pines and something familiar about it circulates an unexpected calming sensation within her.

“This is certainly unusual. You’re usually pretty good about advanced notices,” Izumi laughs from across the kitchen.

“Yeah well, something happened and I just needed to get away for a bit.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ll be here,” Izumi answers as she extends the steaming mug to Olivier.

“How kind of you,” Olivier replies sarcastically, looking at the light brown liquid in her cup.

Izumi seats herself next to Olivier, her mouth blowing into the cup in her hands. Her eyes drift to the still figure, and she can see the weight on her mind. Olivier ponders silently, her fingers tapping the mug in her hands in a wavy rhythm, body rocking back and forth slightly. Izumi knows that her friend isn’t one to show vulnerability, but it doesn’t mean she would never seek consolation.

“Remember Winry?”

“Yes, but you rarely talk about her.”

“Well, she showed up at my doorstep tonight. I haven’t seen her in almost two years.”

“Do you know why she’s here?”

It isn’t like her to share a piece of her past, but she trusts Izumi to shed some light in her current predicament. “Winry said that Pinako’s been sick before I ran out on her.”

“Pinako?”

“Pinako Rockbell. She used to work at the shop for our parents. Older lady, very nice. Winry was very fond of her and would watch her work as a kid….”

“Sorry to hear,” Izumi extends her sympathy, but she continues, “…but it doesn’t sound like that’s all she really wanted to say.”

“No, I don’t think so, but I didn’t let her talk.”

“Why not?”

“Look, it’s her fault. She didn’t show up last year and she didn’t bother with calling either. Whatever the fuck happened to her doesn’t concern me anymore, especially since she’s the one who decided to cut ties.”

“Aren’t you the harsh one….” Izumi notes nonchalantly.

“Besides, I have better things to worry about.”

“You mean tomorrow? Warrenton, right? I’ve never been.”

“Yeah, small town, northern Oregon. There’s no future there.”

“I see,” Izumi acknowledges, “That’s why you moved?”

Olivier nods, but her stare deadpans on the coffee table in front of her.

“Why didn’t your sister come with you and Riza?”

“Because she’s stubborn. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t wanna admit that she made a terrible mistake.”

“And Riza?”

“You know she’s loyal to a fault. She’ll follow me anywhere,” she scoffs, “probably even into hell.”

Izumi’s silent, but her forehead wrinkles and her features express disdain. Olivier detects it with ease and she retorts with annoyance on her face, “You think I should talk to her,” Olivier continues, “You think I should work this out with Winry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“You just hate it when you’re wrong. Not everything is black and white, Olivier.” replies Izumi with a smirk.

Olivier sips the drink in her hand, the steam seeps into her pores and leaves her with unexpected calmness. Her anger slowly dissipates, and her logical reasoning returns the further she contemplates. Izumi’s cellphone beeps, interrupting the silence that slowly overtakes the air. The notification lights up the screen and a message pops up, “It’s midnight! Happy birthday, Olivier! One more year and you’re officially an old lady. Better enjoy this year,” she pats her friend’s back.

“You set a reminder for my birthday?” she chuckles, “Thanks.”

Izumi leans the side of her torso against the coffee table, her arm reaching for something from underneath. She plucks a red record sleeve, bow adorning the top side of it, and presents it to Olivier. Olivier slides the vinyl from its sleeve, caressing the grooves on the black disc. The corners of her mouth tug into a smile and her expression turns whimsical, “Jules Massenet, Méditation de Thaïs….”

“You once told me how your mother used to play this piece on the piano. It’s time to put that gramophone of yours to use,” Izumi pats her shoulder, wide grin across her face.

“Thanks for the gift. I mean it.”

Olivier isn’t one to display emotions, but the thought of her mother playing on the piano to the classical music seeps into her mind. The memory of that particular day strikes a strange feeling in her stomach; she isn’t sure if it’s one of fondness or of sadness in which she wants to tuck away forever.

Izumi interrupts her reverie, “Hey, so I’m curious. Did that partner of yours give you anything for your birthday? From the way you talk about him, he seems the thoughtful kind.”

“Miles? Oh no, he didn’t. I don’t think his wife would appreciate that…” The reply flies out of her mouth a little too quickly, but her tone doesn’t betray her. Olivier abruptly stands, heading for the door, “I should go. It’s getting late.”

The walk back to her apartment feels short, especially since her strides are no longer hesitant but full of intention. She would let her talk, that’s the least she can do. As to whether she forgives her is an issue for another time. As she puts forth her foot on the step to her high-rise apartment, the vibration on her leg sets off a jolt of anticipation. She has been expecting a message from Riza, but instead it is a message from a familiar number that reads,

_“Happy birthday. Have a safe trip. X”_

She repeats the message in her head, smiling to herself before climbing up the steps entering the lobby.

 

* * *

 

_4:01PM_

_Her blue eyes linger._

_4:04PM_

_Three minutes in a matter of seconds? What is this sorcery?_

_4:13PM_

_Her pupils are shrinking into tiny black dots, constantly looking at the short and long fingers of the clock underneath the glass encasing. The short hand seems to spin out of control, a ticking time bomb ready to blow off. She focuses her attention so closely she feels her eyeballs will pop out of their sockets. She doesn’t move a muscle. Why isn’t she out of surgery yet?_

_4:14PM_

_She paces in a small circle; one arm is folded, and the other arm has her right thumb rubbing her bottom lip. She doesn’t understand. The doctor said she will be fine and yet the four hours pass by as if it were seconds._

_4:24PM_

_She stands in the center of the hospital waiting room, but it may have well been the center of the universe. The world rarely revolves around her, but the only feeling she’s concerned with at the moment is her own. This feeling is not one of joy nor solace. She asks the same question in her head over and over again: Where would she go? Where should she go?_

_4:34PM_

_The white of the hospital seems endless, like paper being plastered all over, and she feels trapped. The floor’s white, the walls are white, the doors are white, even the nurses are wearing white and she feels the need to rip apart the covering, tearing it into pieces to let a different shade overtake. Even a tint of grey would do, and she isn’t too fond of that color._

_4:44PM_

_The creaking of the wheels can be heard at the end of the long hallway, a white stretcher spreading apart the double door with a loud thud. She spins her body in that direction and jogs toward it. She picks up her jog and starts running, but she feels as if she’s on a treadmill, the distance not closing in even by a mere centimeter. The stretcher is being pushed toward her, approaching her and closing the distance between them she can almost reach out to it. She sees the form lying on the stretcher: an old lady with greying hair, the length of her body is short as evidenced by the wide gap from the edge of the stretcher to the sole of her feet. Both of her eyes are closed, circular eyeglasses over them, and she has a smile on her face. Her body is illuminating bright yellow, giving off a saintly aura, and yet she is immovable. So still that she looks dead. She, however, knows that the woman is only sleeping, for her face isn’t covered in the white linen sheet blanketing her body._

_She extends her arm in an attempt to reach the old woman, but a black metal gate drops in front of her with a loud bang. The sharp pointed edges of the bars are staked onto the white floor and she jerks away from her step. Her arm once again reaches in between the bars and toward the body on the stretcher. Her heart is racing fast, and her expression is full of agony, and frustration, and fear. She could cry, and maybe she would feel better for a moment, but she has a promise to keep. And that promise would be that the next time she cries, it would be tears of joy._

_She leans her back against the gate, body slowly sliding onto the ground in exhaustion. She sees a tall, lean figure approach her, tightening the gap between them so quickly it looks as if the form had teleported in front of her. With such short proximity between them, she can see that his height is towering over her body. She trembles, crouching her limbs into a fetal position. She squeezes her knees together and wraps her arms around them protectively. The figure is wearing a white buttoned up shirt, black suspenders over his shoulders, and black slacks and shoes covering everything below his waist. His blonde hair is blocking his right eye, but she can see that his eyes are shining bright red from behind the curtain. He offers her his hand, palm up toward the sky, but she is hesitant to take it._

_He seethes anger at her inaction. He abruptly grabs her wrist, pulling her body closer to his. His grin widens and his white teeth look almost fang-like, tongue licking his lips in a circular motion, ready to devour the meal in front of him. He is so close that she can feel the hot breath on her face, sending bouts of alarm throughout her body. She wants to run; she tries to run, but her feet betray her as though her ankles have been chained to the metal bars behind her. She writhes her body in attempt to wriggle free of the grasp, but the grip is unshaken. The man’s mouth opens to speak and his upper lip touches the edge of her nose and she shrieks in terror, the breathy voice is raspy, as if clawing at her skin, “You’re mine, Winry. You can’t run, Winry. Winry…”_

“Winry!”

The young woman jolts her body from slumber, opening her eyes suddenly at the shout of her name. Her arms swing violently, knocking the tea cup on the coffee table, pushing it down toward the floor and shattering it into pieces. The tears streaming from her eyes and the drop of sweat dripping from her temple taste salty in her mouth. Her vision is slowly adjusting to the brightness of the room, the whites slowly turn into different shades of color. She snaps her head left and right and looks around her surroundings in agitation: grey sofa, beige walls, a pair of hazel eyes, blue vases, blue blanket, blue eyes….

She focuses at the blue eyes in front of her, slowly expanding her sight to form the rest of her face. The wispiness of her face turns into one of familiarity: the fair complexion, long blonde hair, rosy pink lips. The woman’s hands are placed firmly on her shoulders and they calm her racing heart, which in turn steadies her uneven breath, enveloping her body with much needed solace.

With all the strength she could muster, Winry screams her name into the air and wraps her arms tightly around the woman in front of her as if her life depends on it, “Olivier! I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry!”

Her tears are like a waterfall and they are instantly wetting Olivier’s shirt, the dampness seeping into her skin, but she focuses her attention on her sister and her hysteria. She returns her hug in a swift motion, patting her soft blonde hair up and down the length. She shushes her, stringing as much comforting words as she can assemble and spitting them back at her. The thin body is shaking, her crying is filing the room, and everything that seems to have been bottled inside is being let out without reservation.

Olivier is worried; she is convinced she hasn’t felt this disturbed in a long time. Her eyes narrow into a slit, determination in them in the way they glitter. She intends to find out the reason and she intends to find out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, I would love to hear what you think.


	3. ink on her skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you ssadropout, Nuzha, Vampiratelycan, and Lepaud for reviewing chapter 2!

The pouring rain, the grey clouds, the hiding sun. The vast green belt, the towering trees, the smell of Oregon pines. The cold breeze against her face and how it pierces her skin. _The gloominess_. Every little thing about this small town triggers a familiar sensation in her chest. Then there’s _the_ house.

Her steps slowly turn into a jog and her hand hovers over her head to shield herself from the rain. She steps in a puddle on the ground and it splashes her legs, shivering up the rest of her body, and she groans in annoyance. _Why is she here again?_ She arrives at the light blue veranda, the steps creaking as she climbs up. A dirty, brown Adirondack chair relaxes against the sky-blue wall next to the door frame and she never realizes how it stands out from the rest of the furniture on the porch. It calls to her, beckoning her to sit on its lap, and she floats toward it, leaning her back against the wooden splat, elbows rested on the armrest and she exhales from her short trip.

She looks to her left and sees her mother’s small white vase atop a square table; she wonders how she has overlooked the item earlier. The flowers inside have dried, and their fallen leaves are scattered all over the tiny patio table. The porcelain vase looks out of place compared with the rest of the décor with its glow and shape, and it prompts her to push herself off the chair and reach for it. She caresses the soft, round treasure, dust accumulating on her fingertips, and the weight of it feels as light as clouds. This doesn’t belong here, she thinks. She plucks out the dried stems, brushes off the surface, pouring the rest of the content on the table, and swaddles it inside her purse.

She blindly feels around for the set of keys in her purse and grabs the silver knob on the chipped wooden door. The rust feels rough on her palm as she wiggles the handle, and in one swift motion she pushes the door outward, the creaking noise a crescendo with every inch. The musty air hits her nose unpleasantly, leading her to scrunch the bridge in between her eyes. 

With blinds shielding the windows, the room looks like a large black-hole, spiraling with no end in sight, and she can’t make out the outline of the furniture. Tall cabinets against the wall look like they have eyes and they glare at her, watching her every step. The set of tables and chairs barely covered with black tarp look like giant spiders, their legs curled and thin. The rough linen wallpaper is torn and stained with watermark, and it looks as though the red brick behind it is bleeding through the wall. Onyx tiles lined the floor, and it looks as though her feet are hovering over the endless darkness.

She walks toward the first room along the unlit hallway, carefully maneuvering her steps to avoid the covered furniture, each step leaving trails of footprints in a zigzagging line. The door’s slightly ajar and she peers her head inside: the sagging, stained mattress is covered with a rose-patterned pink quilt, ripped damask wallpaper wrapping the wall. The air in this room feels different than the previous room, and it leaves her wanting to stay, to sit at the edge of the bed. The cold air outside doesn’t permeate the room. The trapped warmth feels toasty on her face and she breathes in the musk deeply and hopes for a familiar scent to fill her nose. In the tranquility, her hearing temporarily sharpens and she notices how the pitter patter of rain has stopped.

_“Riza, stay still.”_

_Her mother chuckled as she took the locks of long blonde hair which had grown just past her shoulder, brushing the length softly and untangling the strands. The young mother was softly humming to a tune Riza often heard in long car rides, but the melody escaping her mouth sounded better than the one she heard on the radio. A mild floral scent filled the room and she glanced at the golden liquid bottle sitting on the vanity table. She would sometimes sneak inside her mother’s bedroom to steal a drop of her perfume and rub it on her neck, just like how her mother did it._

_Riza sat at the edge of the bed, her little feet dangling off the floor, and she continually hit the back of her legs against the height of the frame almost to the rhythm of her mother’s hum. Her hands were fiddling with the lace on her blue dress which was wrapped around the waist akin to a belt, constantly poking at the holes with her finger. Her mother’s hand gently arranged her combed hair into a ponytail._

_Her little ears heard a snap, and her mother pulled out a round handheld mirror and showed her the back of her head, now adorned in a large pink bow, the strings were prettily hanging loose and mixing with her golden tresses. Her mother gently nudged her on the shoulders, the touch of her skin felt warm, and she motioned for the little girl to leave the bed. The tone of her voice that came next was demanding, and yet Riza took comfort at the request, “Have fun with Olivier. Don’t be late for dinner.”_

She doesn’t realize that the corners of her mouth have pulled into a smile, a melancholic smile, and she feels a knot in her stomach shoot up into her heart. A sensation similar to the ones she often feels when she dreams of happy memories only to wake up and have them disappear.

She closes the door quietly, one palm placed firmly above the door knob and the other twisting the knob, and she waits for the lock to click. She turns her body around and looks at the rectangular, hanging sign on the adjacent door, “Queen Elizabeth’s Room,” written in a sloppy cursive, the dark blue ink she used has faded into an off-grey color, and right below it is a phrase written in smaller cursive, “Knock, knock, knock! Who's there?” She shuddered at the memory of it, braiding another tight knot in her stomach. Her and her Shakespearean phase.

She enters, and her footsteps echo in the bare room; the only furniture in the otherwise empty bedroom is a fabric chair with high backrest, the dirty beige-looking cushion with splotches of black stain is worn out from constant use. By the chair is a wooden built-in cabinet, and the last remaining item sitting on the shelf is a vintage typewriter that used to be owned by her elderly neighbor. The old woman had gifted the machine to Riza when she turned twelve with the request that Riza promised to put it to good use. Her upper lip turns in disdain as she remembers how the item had served its purpose: as an escape from her emotionally wracking adolescent years. Her once favorite item is now lying in its coffin, the rusted button-like keys were dismantled, the typebars bent all over the place, sticking up like weeds sprouting from black dirt, and the cold-rolled steel enclosing it has turned into speckles of rust. She stares at the miserable object, pouting her mouth and contemplating whether to touch the mangled item. One hand is slowly extended, but she stops herself and sighs, only to walk away limply.

She drags her feet to the exit, her steps feel heavier than before she entered the room, as if walking on mud, and her breathing has become shallow from the weight. She slams the heavy door behind her with a little bit more strength than necessary, and the sound reverberates throughout the hallway.

She eyes the last door at the end of the corridor and carefully approaches the blood colored entrance. The room is located across from the kitchen, sunlight generously pouring into the space at the cessation of rain, but for some reason the door to the study seems dark with little light penetrating it, casting a shadow on the floor like the silhouette of a person. As she stands by the door she can feel a draft of wind from the narrow slit underneath. Her jaw hangs open, drying her throat, and she feels a sinister presence behind the door.

She swings the door wide open, hoping to let some light in, but nothing comes through. Riza squints her eyes, adjusting them to the darkness of the room, and she is able to make out her father’s large, wooden study against the wall, the wooden swivel chair tucked into the desk. She walks inside, tucking the drapery blocking the window into the curtain holdback, and her sight falls on the last book he read. The thick, leather bound book is flipped open, texts almost unreadable from the ashes sitting atop it, and the pages have turned a dark yellow color from the years. She glances at the small black texts and instantly recognizes that it’s a book about the Titan Prometheus and the gift of fire; her father’s pastime obsession. She trembles at the sight, arms flailing around. And her feet jerk from their position without warning, sending her tumbling backward onto the ground, a booming thud hits the room from the meeting of her bottom with the slippery, uneven wood floor. Her heart starts racing; it’s so loud it deafens her hearing until the only noise she hears is a long high-pitched whistling like the sound of a steam engine hissing. Her mouth gapes and the cool air that fills her mouth chokes and scratches at her throat, forcing her to fight for her breath.

_“Riza, who punished Prometheus when he stole fire?”_

_“…Zeus.”_

_“Good. And what was his punishment?”_

_Riza was quiet. Her mind was racing, scrambling for the correct answer, but she couldn’t remember. It didn’t help that the last thought in her mind was the taste of Mrs. Armstrong’s apple pie and how the crispiness of the crust left a buttery touch at the tip of her tongue and how the sweet aroma made her mouth water, saliva drooling from the side of her lips._

_Her stomach started to tighten, heart palpitating. A drop of sweat formed on her temple, rolling down the side of her cheek. If she was honest, she was sure it could have been a single tear. She could feel the hair at the nape of her neck raise, pulsing an electric shock sensation throughout her body. Her fingers fidgeted on her knees and the palms of her hands became wet, the moisture seeping into the pores of her skin. She wished the small bowl-shaped stool she was sitting on would swallow her whole. She didn’t dare look up at her father, eyes glued on the laminated wooden floor. Her body started to shake from fear and she gulped in anticipation._

_“Riza, what was his punishment?”_

_She swallowed, and her body started to quiver in fear._

_Her father sighed, disappointment lacing his breath. “You know the drill. Show me your back.”_

_Riza slowly lifted the back of her shirt, steadily revealing dark red welts in the center and a trail of scabs along the left and right side; it looks like a large tattoo inked with blood. Her fingers shook, and they shook harder and more violently with every second that passed. Her breath was becoming ragged, and she could hear herself huff and puff from the nervousness, her chest rising and falling uncontrollably. The room had been warm from the summer temperature, but her bare back shivered from the sensation, and she could discern which part of her back was scarred from the sensitivity of the skin, the draft of cool air made sure of that. She could feel tears form in the corner of her eyes, her cheeks becoming swollen from the rush of blood on her face. Her vision blackened as she pressed her eyelids tightly, her set of upper teeth visible at the anticipation, lips wavering, and she waited for the pain to strike._

_Whip!_

_And it came. The sting on her skin._

_She winced, teeth bared from the pain._

_“The correct answer is an eagle ate the liver of the titan as he was chained to a rock.”_

_Riza sobbed in her seat, but she tried to swallow the sound by pushing her stomach inward against her rib cage, afraid that any louder and it would call for another round. She tried to control the pain that was shooting up her spine by pricking the skin on her knee, temporarily shifting the unbearable sting from her back to her thigh. She could feel warm ooze drip down the length of her torso, but she was too afraid to move her shaking fingers to wipe at the fluid. She was sure it would be another scarred wound. She nodded at her father with her eyes still fixed on the floor, too scared to look up._

_“Why did Prometheus steal the gift of fire from the gods?”_

_“So—so that—mankind—can—use it….” She replied, her hitching breath pausing her sentence at each word._

_“Exactly. The gift of fire is everything. Without it, human can’t do anything. Fire gives life. Fire is life….”_

_Berthold Hawkeye picked up the framed portrait of his wife sitting at the edge of the desk, his eyes lingered on her until it started glistening. His forefinger dawdled on the image of a young woman with flaxen hair, hazel eyes glimmering brightly in the photo, mouth curved into a wide smile. His body started to quiver, the framed portrait shaking with him. Riza watched his trembling back, his breathing growing irregular and hitching as if his lungs are collapsing on him, and she could hear a soft weep escape his mouth. He started to hack violently, and she could see him move his hand to cover his mouth, body jolting in all places from the fit. She hesitantly rose up from her chair and took a tiny step back slowly, moving herself closer to the doorway inch by inch. And as she did that she stared at her father’s back, realizing in that mere moment how frail he looked, body convulsing in the fit of cough, becoming unlike his usual overbearing figure._

_“You can—leave. Prepare—your own dinner…. I will be—taking a nap.”_

Riza’s eyes burn with rage at the memory of her father sitting on that chair, and in her mind’s eye she focuses her vision into the back of his skull, boring heat into his thick head and drilling a hole in the center of it. She feels her face turn bright red from the blood rushing to her head, her nostrils flare, and her breath is loud and hissing, like a predator ready to strike. She storms out of the room, fists clenched so tight her fingernails dig into the skin of her palm, and the stomp of her foot shakes the floor. She slams the door loudly against the hinges, banging it into its grooves; the door would have broken if she musters just another ounce of strength. Riza tries. She tries _hard_ not to dwell on her past, but certain memories will always haunt her.

In that moment she remembers the reason she rarely visits her childhood home; why every time she’s in town she intentionally avoids coming to this dreadful place. With the death of her father, the name Riza Hawkeye is attached to the decrepit building, but she can’t identify—won’t identify—herself with it. She has severed ties with it since the Armstrong family took her in as their daughter more than ten years ago; the day Olivier learned what Riza’s father had done to her and told her parents about the markings on her back. She was her savior, her guardian angel of sort, and she owes Olivier her life and wellbeing.

As she looks around the room, she notices that sunlight has peered through the blinds, reflecting rectangular white shades on the floor. The shades shine over the furniture and outline the cabinets and tables and chairs, and Riza can see that her head almost touches the ceiling and she is eyelevel with the tallest cabinet in the room. In the years that passed, this is the first time she feels large in the cramped room.

She hears a chiming sound from beneath her jeans. She slips her hand into her pocket and takes out her cellphone, the notification is showing seven unread messages from two recognizable numbers:

_Olivier 11:31 AM: I’m 15 mins away. See u there._

_Becca 9:15 AM: Riza how’s Warrenton??_

_Becca 9:22 AM: Omg Mustang just dropped off a shitload of paperwork on my desk!1_

_Becca 10:11 AM: Rizaaa come baaack!! I can’t stand this_

_Becca 10:31 AM: I’MMA BE HERE UNTIL MIDNIGHT AT DIS RATE_

_Becca 10:31 AM: FML!! </3_

_Becca 10:45 AM: How did u get thru a whole day with him? Teach meeee!! Plz!_

Riza chuckles as she reads the messages. Her fingers move rapidly with enthusiasm as she replies before tucking in her phone back into her pocket and taking note of the time. With her head up, she takes large steps forward to the front door, turning the key on the door knob sideways while opening the width just enough to let her body pass through. She closes the door behind her without another glance, leaving the Hawkeye residence to rot in its place.

 

* * *

 

**Rockbell Residence, Warrenton, OR, 12:38PM**

The short stature, older woman slowly rises from her seat at the whistling sound of the kettle. Her stride is short and burdened, each step dragged from the way it screeches on the shiny wood floor. The cane in her hand guides her next step, tapping incessantly on the floor.

“Pinako, we can help you with that. You should be resting,” Riza states, pleading tone in her voice. The greying woman has refused help the second time, waving her off nonchalantly.

“I’m sick, but I’m not dead yet. Besides, I’ve managed without anyone else here so far.”

“You really should lay off the smoking. And the whiskey,” Olivier retorts.

“That won’t make a difference now,” answers Pinako.

Riza springs up from her seat when the old woman struggles with the cup in her hand. Riza places the cups on a rustic wooden tray, carrying it back to the dining table where Olivier is waiting, fingers weaved together in a praying pose.

“Care to share about Winry?”

“Oh my, you were never one for small talk,” Pinako scoffs, her ponytail staying rigid as she swiftly snaps her neck to face the impatient blonde woman. She takes her seat across from Olivier, but then her expression changes to one of solemn, “Do take good care of her, she’s been through a lot.”

Riza places a hand on the old woman’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly, and a reassuring nod follows as Pinako glimpses at her.

Pinako refocuses her attention on Olivier, resoluteness in her eyes and her firm tone reiterates,” And _you_ have to understand that she didn’t choose to stay to disobey you. Her motivation is noble,” she continues, “And I’m not sure if she has told you, but we served our last customer two weeks ago. The Armstrong Automotive closed up shop for good.”

“I figured something happened to the shop, but is that it? I don’t think that’s the end of it.”

“I noticed something different about her, too, but I’ve been in and out of the hospital that I haven’t had a chance to ask her, and I’m truly sorry about that. The next thing I know, she took off the day I was discharged from the hospital. She didn’t say where she was going, but I’m glad to know she went to see you.”

Pinako sighs as she resumes her story, “She cried a lot, for days on end, and I’m not sure if she was crying for me or for the shop, or both, but she probably blamed herself for what happened. And all I could do was reassure her that it’s not her fault this happened and that all she can do now is move forward,” she pauses before continuing, worried expression on her face, “I also made her promise that the next time she cries it should be tears of joy, because this old lady can’t bear seeing another sad tear before she dies.”

The two women are mute, their gaze downcast, and Pinako presses on, “In any case, you should hear it from Winry. You have a lot to catch up on. Be good sisters to her, that’s what you two are for.”

 

* * *

 

**Ocean View Cemetery, Warrenton, OR, 3:15PM**

Riza carries the lidded woven basket on one arm, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as wind blows her way. She trails behind Olivier, slow and steady, but her sight is focused on the two slate headstones that stick out like sore thumbs among the sea of marble and granite markers.

The hilly graveyard is green and grassy, and it looks beautiful for such an eerie place. Newly planted oak trees lined the narrow, paved road along the perimeter of the cemetery; the way it curves over the peaks and valleys reminded Riza of the body of a basilisk, slithering in one direction.

Olivier stops at the two oval shaped stones in front of her. The names “Philip Armstrong” and “Elizabeth Armstrong” are carved on them. The stones are made of concrete, and they look dull and plain compared to the marble and granite ones, but the surface looks polished and well-maintained. She unfolds the picnic blanket in her hand, spreading it on the damp ground beneath them. The edge of the blanket rests against the headstones, which are lying side by side and separated only by mere centimeters, and she muses to herself.

“Mom always did prefer you. You two share the same name,” says Olivier, bearing no hatred in the timbre of her voice. She folds her legs over the blanket and leans backward, her arms propping her torso up.

“I think it’s because you’re even more stubborn than I am,” Riza laughs, opening the picnic basket, “you rarely listened to her.”

Olivier takes a sandwich from her sister, sniffing the content before proceeding to take a bite. As she swallows her food, she steers the conversation, “How was the Hawkeye home?”

“Run down, just like how I remember it…. And dirty, and dark, and ugly. Remind me to never go back.”

“I warned you,” Olivier declares, and Riza can’t tell if she’s being serious or if her remark is meant to be taken lightheartedly, “Nothing good will come out of visiting that place. Father said the same thing back then, too.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me, all this time, ever since we were kids. And for coming to my rescue,” replies Riza genuinely, “To be honest, I was really scared when you left for college because that means I would be alone in that house with just my father. But, I’m glad you came back to visit that one summer and yeah, well, you know what happened after….”

“It was the right thing to do,” Olivier cuts off, emotions not showing in the flat intonation of her answer. Riza knows her sister isn’t one for heartfelt conversations, but she smiles toward her direction, admiring her profile.

“It’s funny how we’ve kept up this picnic tradition,” Riza chuckles as she switches subject, “but this is nice, and I’m glad Winry suggested it in the first place.”

Olivier’s gaze deadpans, something clearly weighing her mind as shown by the creases on her forehead, and she asks the question she has been itching to ask, “What do you think happened to Winry? I think there’s more to her story than just the business folding and Pinako being sick.”

“I’m not sure what happened, but we should let her tell us in her own time.”

“I disagree. If she’s going to live with us, she should be honest about her situation. And it’s strange that she decides to stay back in LA while we’re both here—”

“Well you haven’t changed,” a familiar, sarcastic tone interrupts, jerking the two women’s heads toward the voice.

In front of them stands a young man with braided ponytail, parted bangs ruffled by the wind, and a smirk gracing his face. His stance exudes confidence: back is straight, chin is up, and both feet are planted firmly on the ground. His light-colored hair looks almost white under the sun, and his eyes narrowed, one hand placed on his forehead in the form of a salute to block the sunlight. He is dressed in a long sleeved black vest with high collar and black pants. In one arm rests a bouquet of flowers, the colors vary from red, pink, and orange to purple and blue, and the different shades paint themselves beautifully against the green landscape.

“Edward!” Riza exclaims. There’s delight in the lilt of her voice, “When did you arrive in town?”

“What are you doing here, pipsqueak?” Olivier sneers.

“Who are you calling pipsqueak?! I’ve grown since the last time you saw me! At least by three inches!” Edward retorts, resting one hand on his hip.

“Well _you_ haven’t changed,” replies Olivier, smiling.

Edward laughs as he carefully traces his steps around the edges of the blanket to place the flowers in between the headstones, “I got here a couple of days ago. I know you guys will be here, so I figured it’s a good time to pay my respects.”

“It’s been a while. How have you been, Ed?” Riza looks at him, a fond smile on her face.

“Heh. You just want to see Winry,” Olivier states, making sure she’s loud enough for Edward to hear.

Edward’s face turns red and he feels a spike in his heart rate at the comment. He gulps before replying, “Right, right… two—or is it three years since we last saw each other? I’m doing well. Davis is a nice place to live, the university town and everything, but I’m in between jobs at the moment….” he scrunches his forehead and looks around, confusion visible on his face, “And talking about Winry, why isn’t she here with you two?”

“Oh she decides to stay back in LA….” Riza answers hesitantly.

“I thought she didn’t move with you,” Ed states, almost matter-of-factly.

“She didn’t. She arrived not too long ago….”

“And Al? Tell me, how is he?” Olivier interjects.

“Al…? Al is good. Great, actually! He finished his last quarter with flying colors, and I’ve been helping him pack. He’s at the house right now, but he’s supposed to meet me here in a little bit.”

“Pack up?” Riza questions.

“Ahh yeah, his transfer application was approved so he’ll be moving to UCLA in the fall. He wants to move closer to Mei. And I’m helping him pack because he won’t be able to make that ten-hour drive home anymore,” Edward laughs.

“And what about you, Ed? What’s your plan?”

“Me? Well, I guess I’ll be staying in LA for a while to help him unpack,” he announces, smirk across his features, “So… will you two be up for giving me a tour of beautiful Los Angeles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Please comment/review and let me know what you think. I promise there will be some fluff next chapter….


	4. in for the kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you KnightLawn, DayDreamerOfThePast, Nuzha, ssadropout, 1stTimeCaller, dvltgr, blazedancer1997, and Vampiratelycan for reviewing the story. I want to make sure you’re all mentioned because your support keeps me going!

**Guisados, Downtown Los Angeles, 12:14PM**

Her light-colored hair has been tousled in all direction by the air conditioner directly above her, tangling the strands and messing her locks, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her chin is resting on her palm, heavy lidded bright blue eyes staring out the large glass window, seemingly observing the passersby. If someone were to look carefully, though, one could see that her sight extends beyond the pedestrians, beyond the sidewalk, and into an unknown distance. She’s in a world of her own, trapped in an endless rumination. She hears chatting patrons all around, but their utterance sounds like gibberish, words jumbled together to make an incoherent sentence.  The sound is muffled at times, but there’s a high-pitched buzzing sound that’s constantly there, like tinnitus, and it’s making her headache worse.

The vibration in her pocket knocks her out of contemplation, followed by the sound of bells jingling from the doorway. She twists her body around, cranking her neck slowly in the direction of the bell, and she sees a woman dressed in business attire, casually bobbing her head upward and sideways, glancing through the packed dining room for a familiar face.

“Riza!”

Riza snaps her head toward the voice and waves her hand, heels clicking as she approaches the young woman in light pink sweater. Riza’s breathing is slightly erratic, chest huffing and puffing from her run across the street, and she runs her fingers through her long, golden tresses, fixing the unruly strands. She takes the seat across from the blonde woman, wide smile on her face, “Phew, did you—uh—find the place alright, Winry?”

“Yeah, not too bad.”

Riza pulls her chair in, taking a deep breath and calming her breathing.

“Okay, so this restaurant is known for their fresh handmade tortillas…. If you’re in LA, this place is a must try,” claims Riza as she elicits an exaggerated giggle. “Thanks for ordering for me. I have about…” Riza glances at her watch, “twenty minutes for lunch.”

“No problem,” Winry replies, smiling weakly.

“Are you… settling in okay?”

“Yeah. Not too used to the weather, but I’ll adjust eventually. I just… find it odd that it’s warm during the day in November. It doesn’t seem right to me.”

“It’ll get cooler later in the month,” Riza assures, small smile across her lips.

There’s an awkward pause, followed by an uncomfortable silence. Winry interweaves her fingers, clasping both hands together, gaze focused on the tiny speck of leftover sauce on the table. Riza hums, clearing her throat every so often to break the quietness, reluctantly placing a napkin in front of her and pressing her forefingers on the table, wiping the table excessively. They haven’t had a chance to catch up since her return from Warrenton the previous day; her sisters arrived home late in the night and Winry had been asleep then. When Winry woke in the morning, Olivier had left for work and Riza was just preparing to leave, but not before promising her little sister that she would meet her up for lunch. Winry didn’t realize she had slept through the night, something that rarely happened back home. Hectic work hours, excessive stress, and _that incident_ ….

Winry hears her name being called from behind the counter, shattering the agonizing silence, and she sees a waiter slide a couple of trays in front of him, an array of colorful food plated on both trays. She lazily stands up from her seat, but Riza springs up abruptly, making a screeching noise with her chair as it skids backward, hand gesturing to her sister to remain.

Winry observes her sister’s movement as she trots to the counter. Her steps are wide and slightly awkward, like she’s been forced to wear the two inches of heels underneath, but Winry can’t help but notice that the extra height highlights her toned legs, making her figure look even more attractive. Her long, silky hair is slightly disheveled from the strong air blowing above her, but it nevertheless falls perfectly over her shoulder, like it’s meant to be worn that way. And the earrings she wears are too small and concealed behind her thick tresses, but at the right angle the set of white and blue pearls she received from her mother only enhances her femininity.

Winry realizes that she has always been a little envious of her adopted sister. She is tall—taller than her—, she is intelligent, she is certainly more voluptuous, _and_ she has those beautiful earrings to complement her beautiful face.

“Did you know I got these earrings because of you?” Winry asks.

Riza squints her eyes at her sister, questioning look on her face, “What do you mean?”

“I asked mom and dad for these earrings because I always liked your pierced ears. It makes you look very pretty.”

Shade of pink blossoms on Riza’s face, and she stammers, “Oh… I didn’t know, but thanks....”

Riza places the trays in between them, gesturing to Winry to eat. She settles in her seat, smiling as she loops her purse strap over the chair. She touches her hair, brushing the length of it with her fingers, and she looks at Winry and chimes, “Did you know I grew my hair long because of you?”

Winry stares, food in her hand and mouth slightly opened, “Seriously?”

Riza nods, a small chuckle passing her lips, “Yeah. You know how I used to always keep my hair short? I saw yours and thought long hair looked really good on you, so _you_ inspired me to grow it.”

Winry gapes, dumbfounded expression across her face. She never thought the feeling could go the other way around. Her face lights up, like something clicked in her head, and she giggles. Her giggle then turns into a big, hearty laugh, and the sound is so contagious that Riza can’t help but follow with a burst of laughter, folding both hands over her stomach. A stream of tears spills from Winry’s eyes and rolls down her cheeks, and she constantly mouths profanity as she laughs.

The awkwardness between the two dissipated, rectified by a newfound commonality, and as Winry comes down from her glee, she takes a bite of the taco in her hand and exclaims, “Oh my god, this is delicious!”

Riza responds, grinning, before taking a bite herself, “I told you. This place makes the best tortillas,” she continues, swallowing the food in her mouth, “what’s your plan for the day?”

“I’m going to finish that romantic novel you left on the coffee table,” Winry glances at Riza, biting the piece of pork dangling from the side of the taco shell.

“Oh? Uh… have you been reading that?” replies Riza, hesitance in her voice.

Winry chuckles, “Ha-ha, no, but I might start. The look on your face was priceless. I hope it’s nothing embarrassing to read… like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’.”

“Well then, why don’t you find out for yourself?” Riza replies playfully, giggling. Her face suddenly brightens as something strikes her, and she flicks her finger and points at Winry as she shares an important piece of information, “By the way, I haven’t told you, but we saw Ed in Warrenton.”

“Oh Ed? How’s he doing?” Winry’s expression turns into one of curiosity, and Riza notices a hint of excitement highlighting her features.

“He’s good. He’s actually gonna be in town in two days. Sorry I forgot to tell you!” Riza exclaims, snickering. “Do you remember when you were a kid, and Al and Ed fought over who gets to marry you?”

Winry chokes on her food, spitting remnants of it on the table, and she turns to her sister with a disgusted look. Riza continues, mildly coughing from holding her laughter, “Ed lost and he looked so so sad, until he heard you turn down Al… and you can see his eyes sparkle like he just won the lottery! Do you remember that? I always knew he liked you.”

Winry’s upper lip tugs upward, index finger placed over her mouth, and she hums. One eye winking as if she’s pondering over her sister’s question and she laughs out loud at the memory. As the thought of Ed lingers she can’t help but feel her face turn a tinge of red, blood rushing to her head. The rest of her body starts to feel warm, and she can feel beads of sweat trickle out of her pores. She hovers her hand over her face and fans herself, commenting about how the temperature in the room has gotten so hot all of a sudden. Riza laughs and tuts her finger at Winry, insisting how pointless it is to deny her blatant affection for him. She feels another buzz in her pocket, but she ignores it, too elated in the conversation.

Riza chuckles, “Did you guys keep in touch when he left for Davis?”

Winry contemplates over the question, but disappointment quickly becomes apparent in the lilt of her voice as she speaks, “We tried in the beginning, but he’s so bad about texting and calling. Once in a while he’d visit, but other than that I rarely hear from him.”

Riza suggests, “Well that’s too bad, but maybe Friday would a good time to catch up with him. I’ll be at work, so if you don’t mind I will need your help taking him around. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Winry replies, genuine smile on her face. She steers the conversation, asking curiously, “This morning you said Olivier will be traveling for a few days?”

Riza eyes her, responding to her inquiry, “She left for Vegas early this morning. Work’s sending her there and she won’t be back until the end of the week.”

Winry chews the inside of her cheeks, sulking and pouting her mouth as she shifts her eyes across the restaurant. Her eyes are sullen, creases visible, and she squirms in her seat as she clasps her hands together in between her thighs. The aura she exudes is no longer of joy but one of brood. Riza’s expression turns solemn, addressing what she thinks is the cause of her concern, “Are you worried about Olivier asking what happened?”

Winry is silent, but Riza can see frustration in her body language as she grunts and scratches her head vigorously. She proceeds to splay her hands on the table, tapping her fingers incessantly. Riza extends her palm to grab Winry’s hand, thumbs gently caressing the back of her hand, and she reassures, “Everything will be fine. I stand by what I said when I told you I’ll let you decide when to tell me. I’m here for you.”

“But Olivier won’t…” she mumbles.

Riza acknowledges, “Olivier _probably_ won’t, but it’s only because she’s worried about you.”

Winry hesitates, biting her bottom lip as she ponders her sister’s justification. She shakes her legs, the jitters haven’t left her body, and she wonders how to broach the next delicate subject. She clears her throat, croaking her question at her sister, “He-ey… This is a bit random… but can I ask you how you got over, uh, the whole ordeal with your father?”

Riza’s face turns serious, expression darkening as she takes a deep breath and expelling it loudly.

Winry awkwardly replies, “Oh no, Riza, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. It’s no big deal.”

Riza licks her lips, carefully mulling over the question in her head. She doesn’t remember if she has ever been asked that question before, and she isn’t sure how to answer her sister properly.  Nevertheless, she responds to Winry with firmness in her tone, “Well, I don’t know if I can say I’m completely over it, but therapy has helped. You, Olivier, mom and dad helped, too. I think with time, I was eventually able to move on.” Riza stares at Winry as she answers, crooking her head sideways, eyes narrowing with concern. She inquires with heavy cadence, “Why do you ask?”

“… I’m just wondering…. You just seem so strong even after all that happened.” Winry replies, her expression a blank canvas. Riza studies her face, one question after another at the tip of her tongue, but Winry interrupts before she’s able to form the words, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work soon?”

Riza glances at her watch and looks back at her sister, hesitant to leave her in the middle of what seems to be an important conversation, “…I do have to go. And I need to stop by—uh—a bookstore before getting back to work…. But we’ll talk more tonight?”

“Yes, sure.”

Riza glances at her sister again, her torso half turned as she gets ready to leave, and yet she lingers at the edge of her chair, unwilling to go.

“Go on, you don’t want to be late!” Winry waves her off in a hurried motion, a small reassuring smile on her lips.

Riza stands from her chair, grabbing her purse slowly and placing it over her shoulder, “Alright then… I’ll be back around six thirty tonight, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course.”

Her sister springs up from her seat, putting her hand on Winry’s arm and squeezing it ever so lightly as a comforting gesture, and she leaves. Winry smells a whiff of her perfume as her sister rushes past her, clicking of heels flittering away as she exits.

Winry sighs and wipes at her forehead, nervous sweat threatening to drip down her temple. She grabs her cellphone from her pocket, noticing that it had been buzzing several times throughout their conversation. She sees the notification light flash green and she lights up her screen. Her face instantly turns into one of fear, eyes bulging, and she can feel the lingering sweat finally roll down the side of her face. Her palm’s sweaty and she feels her cellphone slowly slip out of her hand from the moisture. She covers her mouth with her hand, and her body shakes violently. She sees three missed calls from the same number, along with a text message: _“Winry, where the fuck r u?”_

 

* * *

 

**The Last Bookstore, 12:40PM**

Words cannot describe the knot in her stomach or the rapid pulsating of her heartbeat every time she steps into The Last Bookstore. The pain on the balls of her feet from walking around in heels suddenly disappears, forgotten as she stares in wonder at the magnificent building before her. Tall wooden shelves hoarding hundreds of books from Western novels to historical publications, Greco Roman columns pillaring the two-story bookstore, a tunnel made of books, hidden alcoves arranged neatly from leather-bound tomes, and an old bank vault storing a hundred more books. Riza’s in heaven, and her giddiness can hardly be contained. She would scream and squeal from joy, but she doesn’t want to be the center of attention, especially in a crowded store such as this.

She treks to the tenth row, counting the number of beautiful pillars in her head as she passes by them. Two bookshelves away from the old bank vault, and she needs to turn right. After walking past the third bookshelf on the left-hand side she must make another right, passing by the famous book tunnel. Just a little further and her destination awaits, located right by the flying books ornament, a homage to Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’. She has memorized the labyrinth by heart and yet her enthusiasm has only increased with every visit. The clack of her high heels thumps louder and louder against the concrete floor, and her lips curve into a smile, and then to a grin. She’s almost there, and she can feel the excitement growing… but then a recognizable yet unexpected face appears in the distance and she screeches her heels to an abrupt halt.

_Shit._

Riza quickly spins around the corner reflexively, hiding behind the antique bookshelf and gingerly peeking her head out just enough to watch from afar. The man’s hands are in his pockets, feet shoulder-width apart, and his posture’s relaxed as he listens attentively to the man accompanying him. He seems to be in a good mood, a smile on his face as he casually leans his shoulders backward to laugh every so often. Riza can recognize that unruly hair and smug face anywhere. And that smirk. She wants to slap it off his face sometimes.

She strides to a small book display on her left, making as little noise as possible. The display divider between them is thin enough that she would be able to hear their conversation, but just at the right height to conceal most of her body and hide a part of her head that he shouldn’t be able to realize that she’s eavesdropping. She flicks a book from the bottom shelf, flipping through the pages haphazardly, pretending to take an interest in the novel.

She hears a high pitched, cheerful voice and she identifies it as the one coming from the tall man wearing glasses, “Yeah, I’m the luckiest man in the world! I can’t wait to marry her! I’m going to help her plan the wedding and make sure she’s happy with every little detail… Roy, you’re going to be my best man!”

“Yes, I get it. You’re the luckiest man in the world. No need to repeat yourself over and over again.” She recognizes the other voice. That deep, authoritative timbre. She shudders at the memory of him bossing her around.

“You need to find yourself a wife. You’re not getting younger, you know! Is there a prospect at work? Anyone beautiful and funny and loving like my Gracia?” his friend laughs. She can hear a back being slapped as he speaks.

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so,” flat, uninterested tone slips out his mouth.

“Maybe you can meet someone at my wedding!” he exclaims happily.

“No,” his voice is firm.

“How about Gracia’s friend? The one she wants you to meet?”

“No. Hughes, can you stop? _Please_?” he begs, annoyance lacing his voice, “you’re supposed to be helping me find a book, not ask me about my love life!”

“No? How about that new assistant of yours? Is she a potential?” he snickers.

“Hughes, come on! First of all, she’s _my_ assistant, that means I can’t date her…” he answers, sounding offended at the question.

“Oh, come on, lighten up a bit, Roy!”

“Wait you didn’t let me finish. Second, she’s so serious and seems kinda boring to be honest, and there are plenty of other women more beautiful than her,” he asserts.

She can hear his friend burst into a laugh, cackling at Roy’s comment. She hears something along the line of ‘don’t be such a grump’ coming from him, but Riza pays him no attention. Her eyes bulge as his words pound in her head, every word he articulated invades her memory: _boring, serious, ugly? Boring…_. Her cheeks are growing hot from resentment, and a part of her wants to go out there and confront him for his remarks. Instead, she glares at the page in her hand and her fingers clamp the book hard, creating a dent on the side and creasing the pages. She snaps the book closed with a loud thud, resisting the urge to rip out the pages as she puts it back into the shelf next to her. She grits her teeth, tightening her jawline until it becomes sensitive, and lets out a tiny growl. She processes his statement in her head again and again, and she can feel her blood reach its boiling point.

She turns around to leave, bumping into an eluding book stand and knocking several copies onto the floor. She mutters expletives loudly, bending down to pick up the books and putting them back carelessly onto the display. She rises to stand, putting a hand on her knee, and she realizes as she looks ahead that the man causing her distress is looking directly at her.

“Riza?” He has a worried look about him. “Did you—"

She begs her mind to calm down, reciting to herself that this is her boss she’s looking at. _Be professional_. But the situation doesn’t allow her time to think, and her body betrays her as she grunts and tramples in the opposite direction, gripping her purse strap tightly as annoyance cross her features.

“Riza, wait!” he calls out.

She doesn’t stop. The memory replays in her head, and she thinks of his stupid smirk and his stupid hair and how his beautiful face deserves a punch in the nose. She turns into a small jog, hoping that he has ceased his chase as the sound of his voice is slowly drowned out. She doesn’t look back, storming past the row of bookcases and displays toward the exit. As she passes the best seller stand, she suddenly remembers her reason for stopping by the bookstore, but it’s too late for her to care as her mood turns all the more sour at every second. She can’t believe her luck, seeing _him_ of all people and finding him in _her_ happy place.

She finally sees the exit and she thrusts the door roughly, forcing it to swing wide open. She steps out to the cool air, groaning loudly as a gust of wind ruffles her hair into a wild mess, and she stomps to the nearest bus stop to make her way back to the office. It doesn’t help that she has to see him, _work with him_ , for the rest of the day and she grumbles at the thought of it.

 

* * *

 

**Harris Ave, Las Vegas, 9:07PM**

“This is Detective Armstrong. Suspect never showed up. We’re taking code seven.”

_“Copy that.”_

She clicks the radio on the receiver, ending the call to headquarters. She relaxes against the seat cushion, undoing the neat bun and freeing her hair from the grasp. She musses her hair and sighs, body slumped as she unwinds from the long day. She turns her head to face her partner, buckling her seatbelt and commanding nonchalantly, “Let’s call it a night and head back to the hotel.”

He nods from the driver’s seat, but not before taking a glimpse at the shiny object on her wrist. He has never seen it before. “Is that a new watch?”

She glances at the watch, and the small object fits elegantly around her wrist; the strap is a smooth light brown leather, the crystal is a dark blue color with white flecks all over, resembling a constellation, with shiny gold case encircling it. She answers, “Riza gave it to me for my birthday.”

“It looks nice on you.”

“I told her I don’t need a gift, but every year she always gets me one,” Olivier states, eyes half lidded.

“That’s just her way of showing… love…” he replies, emphasizing the last word escaping his mouth.

She eyes Miles questionably and he stares back, fixating his gaze on her cool blue eyes. There’s an ambiguous silence in the air, like an issue that needs addressing, and it tenses his body with each ticking second. The street outside is dark, lined with dead lampposts, but it’s also peacefully quiet without a soul wandering around, and it intensifies the suspense. The temperature inside the parked car is cold, warm exhalation slowly fogging the windshield, and Olivier shifts her attention to the chill, wrapping her coat over her shoulders. She looks at her partner closely, and she knows he has something on his mind from the way he stares blankly at her, unmoving hands loosely placed on the steering wheel. She waits for him to speak, allowing his reticence to persist a second longer. He finally shrugs, relaxing his tense muscle, and with a flat tone in his voice he confides, “Lilian moved out.”

Olivier repositions herself, unbuckling her seatbelt to give her more room to shift around. Her expression remains unchanged as she twists her torso toward him, resting one arm in the middle compartment and inching herself closer to Miles’s still form. The coat around her shoulders unwraps itself and falls in between the recesses of the car. She examines his face, waiting for grief to overtake his features, but they never come. Instead, he gazes at her longingly and without remorse, amber eyes shifting back and forth swiftly as he in turn studies her expression. He mimics her, moving one arm and resting it on the armrest as he nears his face to hers. He tilts his eyes down and notices a glimmer around her neck, and it’s illuminating in the dark. He wraps his finger around the item and gently untucks it from underneath her collar. It’s a necklace. The necklace _he_ gave her. He smiles genuinely and steadily closes the gap between their faces.

She freezes in spot, and for the first time in a long time she scrambles for words in her head, wanting to break the silence as she realizes what he’s about to do. She gulps, her pursed lips are separated, and she senses heat blazing from head to toe, beguiling her to dismiss all logical reasoning and enticing her to give into her desire. He moves closer to her face, and she feels his hot breath on her cheek and it smells sweet and minty. She looks at his lips, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can resist temptation as the feeling in her chest overtakes her movement. She feels her toes twitch, her hands going numb, the muscles in her legs tensing, and she finds her body pulling itself toward his.

She can feel the rapid change in temperature as two warm bodies collide. She loops her arms around his neck and crashes her mouth against his, pressing them tightly and hungrily, savoring the taste of his lips. He returns the kiss with fervor, devouring her mouth with his. She feels the stubble on his chin graze her skin as he licks her lips, but she doesn’t hate it and instead feels the intensity of his attraction for her even more, and it arouses her. The smell of his aftershave lingers as he cups her cheeks with eager, and he bites her lower lip so roughly that she’s sure she tastes blood. He weaves his fingers in her hair and she can feel how his strong and vicious grip is full of lust, and she can’t help but deepen the kiss. He slips his tongue in her mouth, and she moans softly from the pleasure.

She finally breaks away, gasping for air, and she can see her breath forming as she heaves. Miles shrugs his coat off, freeing himself from the heat circulating his body. He stares at her, affection shown in the way he smiles, and he caresses her cheek gently with one hand. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes momentarily and cupping his hand with her own. The kiss was fierce, greedy, and full of passion, and Olivier knows that though it was inevitable it would be the catalyst for everything to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Comments/reviews are encouraged


	5. the catalyst part i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it took a while! This chapter got too long, so I separated them into 2 chapters. This is the Winry-centric chapter, so the next one will be Riza/Olivier. I changed the rating to M, because this chapter contains some violence and description of sexual assault. If you’re not comfortable reading it, please skip the last couple paragraphs.

**Beginning of Senior Year, Two Years Ago**

She twirled the pencil in her hand, occasionally biting the end of it, and she stared at the book on her lap. She got approximately… _fifteen minutes_ to study before her exam. She read the words out loud, once, twice, trying to drill historical facts in her head, but she soon forgot the moment she moved onto the next paragraph. _The eighteenth amendment was passed during uh… banning the making of alcohol…_ Winry never had a penchant for understanding history and politics, preferring to read science concepts and theorems. She scratched her head in frustration, dragging her nails on her scalp, and she paused when she heard a slam on the rooftop entrance.

A lanky, blonde-haired kid emerged, his back pushed roughly against the door, and he winced from the pain. He stumbled on the raised landing, falling on his bottom and crawled backward on all four like a spider until he was pinned against the wall. Two boys appeared from the door: one was a shaved headed burly kid while the other was half his size with long, pointy black hair. The shorter one was taunting the blond-haired boy, grasping him by the collar before shoving him hard against the wall. Winry watched in horror as she saw the visible pain on the blonde-boy’s face, and she quickly mulled over a plan to help him.

The short boy mocked the boy, calling him vulgar names and laughing out loud with malice. The burly one trailed a few steps behind, occasionally jeering and ridiculing the boy while clapping his hands together stiffly with palms fitting in together like a five-year-old, but he never laid a hand on his victim. The smaller boy then landed a punch on the lanky kid’s stomach, grinning and sniggering with contempt, and the blonde boy grunted in pain as he clutched onto his stomach. Winry unfolded her legs to stand up from her sitting position; she knew she had to act. She dropped the book on her lap, letting it flip close as it thudded next to her, and she carefully approached the bullies with rage boiling inside her.

The bigger boy spat accusations, intimidating him with a series of warning as he closed in on the lanky boy. Winry could barely make out their argument, picking up words that sounded like “money” and “steal”, but she pressed on.

“Hey!” Winry confronted, her heart pulsating rapidly with adrenaline. She gritted her teeth as she shouted, and her voice boomed in the air, “What the hell are you guys doing?!”

The short, black haired kid spun quickly, facing her dead-on with a sneer on his expression, and Winry’s stomach churned at his gaze. He stood in his position, gesturing to his burly friend to stop the blonde boy from escaping, and he taunted, “Why does it matter to you, bitch?”

Winry looked past the bully and glanced at the lanky boy, noticing a small, purple bruise on his cheek and a tiny trail of blood on his bottom lip. He looked like he was in a lot of pain as he grimaced, chest heaving from fatigue, and Winry could feel steam hissing from her ears the longer she watched. She curled her hands into a fist, rubbing her thumbs over her knuckles in a calming circular motion, and she challenged the delinquent with a composed timbre, “Let him go.”

The short boy took two steps toward her, closing in their distance by mere feet, and he made punching motions with his fist to frighten her, warning her of his imminent strike. Winry, however, stood still, fixing him an unwavering stare. She could feel a drop of sweat trickle down her temple and she knew that it wasn’t from the blissful summer warmth; she was afraid of what they might attempt on her and she tried her best to keep her cool. She studied the bully’s mocking expression and how it remained there throughout their confrontation. It looked as though his sneer was etched there permanently, and as seconds went by, it began to instill doubt in Winry. She finally heard him retort, “Like hell we will.”

She gathered courage, repeating herself with a serious tone, “You will let him go, because you see…” Winry slipped her hand into her jeans, taking out a shiny, black object and waving it around in the air. The boy squinted at the item in her hand, putting two and two together. “This is my phone, and I recorded you two punching him on video,” Winry claimed, “and I won’t hesitate to hand this over to the principal.”

The boy took a few steps backward as he considered her threat, lips trembling slightly as he registered her words. His mocking expression was instantly wiped off and his stance switched to one of timidity. He defended his action as strings of accusations flew out of his mouth, “But he stole our money! It was a lot! And he won’t admit it!”

Winry stood her ground as she observed his demeanor. Her tense muscle loosened, and she unclenched her fists, smirking at the boy as she watched him slowly crumble in front of her.

The burly friend tapped his shoulder, urging him to leave, but the smaller kid froze in place, teeth clattering obnoxiously. Winry resumed her bluff with a calm voice, “If you don’t want me to hand this over to the principal, I can hand it over to my sister. She’s a cop, just in case you guys don’t know. Which do you prefer?”

The bigger boy sprinted as fast as he could to the exit, leaving his friend behind in a matter of second. The short boy watched his friend leave with disbelief, mouth hanging widely until he finally scoffed from frustration. He jerked his head to the blonde kid, glaring at him with a death stare, and he spewed out empty threats before taking his own leave in a rush.

Winry heaved a sigh of relief, and she approached the lanky boy and gently extended the handkerchief in her hand. She studied his face, realizing he wasn’t someone she had seen around campus. She looked into his eyes and noticed his irises were bluish gray, matching the color of the clouds in the sky; it was nothing remarkable, not overly bright nor dull, but it was the first thing that caught her attention. His long bangs fell over one side of his face, covering his right side, and he had light golden hair similar to hers that was trimmed short in the back. He was tall, uncharacteristically so for someone around his age, and she immediately thought of Edward and how jealous he would be of his height. He was also quite _fortunate_ in the looks department, Winry concluded, and it made her wonder if he was a new student.

“Are you okay?” she inquired, a small smile on her face. He hesitantly took the handkerchief in her hand.

The boy ghosted over his bruise, grimacing as he touched the swollen skin, “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” He pressed the piece of cloth lightly to his lips, dabbing the blood that trailed down his chin onto it.

She watched as he continued his ministration, and after a brief moment she extended her hand to introduce herself, “I’m Winry. I don’t think I’ve seen you around…?”

He stared at her hand before taking it cautiously in his, “Russell. I moved here a month ago.”

Winry shook his hand, and without missing a beat she asked playfully with a grin on her face, “Did you really steal their money?”

He yanked his hand away at her question, and he countered with irritation in his tone, “No, I didn’t!”

“Sheesh alright, I was just playing. No need to get snappy,” she giggled.

“Sorry... Hey, is your sister really a cop?” he inquired curiously.

“She is, but she doesn’t live here. Hasn’t been living here for a while. I was just making threats to get them to leave,” she chuckled. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll see you around, okay?” Winry smiled as she tucked her stray blonde locks behind one ear, waving to him before moving toward the exit.

Russell fixated on her back as she strolled, trying to cope with what had just transpired. A girl had just saved him from his predicament, and as bizarre as that sounded to him, he appreciated it all the same. There was never anyone that would do anything like that for him, not in his seventeen years of being alive. His father had certainly abandoned his family to focus on his research, forcing him, his brother, and his mother to fend for themselves; a high school kid who was head of family, working and going to school at the same time, leaving no time to make friends with his schoolmates. He had learned how to stay away from spotlight for the most part, except for today. They caught him reach into their pockets, stealing their lunch money.

He watched her long, blonde hair glitter under the sun as she stepped up the landing, observing and taking note of her confident gait, and without further anticipation he felt a sudden flutter in his chest as he saw her smile to herself, stunning him with feeling of admiration and fascination. His heart then skipped a beat, and he never felt anything like this before. He liked the feeling and he strived to continue feeling this way. He heard the door click, and Winry threw him a last smile as she peered her head out to him before leaving him alone at the rooftop. She had definitely caught his attention, whether intentionally or not, and his curiosity grew. He wanted to get to know her better, and then maybe they could eventually become friends. Then he thought about how rare it was to find someone like her, someone who _cared_ , and so he swore to himself that he would never leave her side.

 

* * *

 

**Senior Year, Valentine’s Day**

“Make sure you bring this car back for oil change in three months. And don’t forget a new timing belt is due when you hit 100,000 miles. Take good care of it and it will last you a long time,” Winry smiled widely as she lectured the older man with thinning white hair, and the man sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and nodded eagerly before leaving the auto shop.

She exhaled loudly as she watched her customer leave, smiling to herself from the satisfaction. She removed her green bandana and slipped it into her pocket, wiping her forehead free of sweat and proceeding to pack her tools inside a mechanic’s chest before putting it back where it belonged. Her white and black crop top concealed the dirt and oil that smeared on her body, but she loved to get her hands dirty if it meant that a customer could leave happy. She enjoyed her work; it was fulfilling and stimulating, and if Winry had to decide on one job this would be, without a doubt, her career choice. There hadn’t been a day when she regretted her decision to help Pinako run her parents’ business. She knew that if they were alive they would have been proud of her, and so she strived to devote the same amount of hard work and care for each and every car she serviced. Her oldest sister, unfortunately, had disapproved of her choice, and she insisted that Winry attend college and go out into the world making a living as a white-collar worker. When Winry disagreed and fought for her decision, she had essentially poured more salt into the already deep wound, prompting Olivier to abandon her to her own disposition and neglecting her to her own consequences.

She rolled the garage door down, securing it with a padlock as the day came to an end, and she was jolted in surprise by a figure leaning against the outer brick wall. He had a variety of lilies in his hand, beautifully arranged into a bouquet of different shades in color. He looked a little nervous, and Winry could see his jeans pocket bulge in wavy motion as he gingerly tapped his fingers underneath. He greeted her hesitantly, “Hi Winry…”

“Hey, Russell,” she smiled.

“I uh… got this for you. Happy Valentine’s day…” he smiled, albeit somewhat awkwardly, and he pressed the flower arrangement onto her hand a little forcefully.

Winry’s stomach twisted into a knot and her heart skipped a beat, but not in a pleasant way, not in the way it would skip when she saw Edward. Nevertheless, she cradled the bouquet in her arm, sniffing the flowers as a soft smile adorned her face, “Thank you, Russell. These are very pretty.”

He smiled back, and it turned into a grin as he observed her pleased expression. He had affectionate words at the tip of his tongue, the one he practiced repeatedly in his head, but he was suddenly interrupted by a firm speaking voice coming from behind him.

“Winry, you ready to go? Al’s waiting.”

Russell’s towering height blocked her view, and Winry peeked her head from the side, searching for the man behind the voice, and she beamed into a wide smile as she saw Edward.

“Yes, I am! Let’s go,” she replied enthusiastically, but she saw Edward pause as he stared Russell from head to toe.

She observed the two boys, her brilliant blue eyes darting back and forth between them, and she focused on Edward’s expression. He was staring at Russell, eyes narrowed into a slit, and his face was blatantly showing annoyance. One corner of his mouth twitched upward in disdain, and Winry could have sworn she saw his vein bulge on his temple as he fixated his gaze on Russell. Edward glanced up and down at his imposing height, and it looked as though he was challenging him to a fist fight. Russell stood in place, irritation displayed on his face as he watched Edward with the same narrowing eyes. This guy again, he thought, the one who was always hanging around her. The taller boy was ready to snap, a quip at the tip of his tongue, but Winry quickly interjected before they hurt each other. “Russell! Thank you for these... I appreciate it!” she exclaimed, “But I have to go now, so… I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

Winry rushed to Edward and swiftly took his arm, guiding him away from the showdown. Russell could see her scold Edward as they left, angry expression on her face and her cheeks flushed red, and he felt his chest tighten, suffocating him with jealousy. He had never felt this sensation with other girls before, but Winry had been an exception--always had been, and his body fumed with anger. This _Edward_ had always been the one preventing him from getting close to her, like he wouldn’t share her. She was definitely not his girlfriend the last time he checked. In the fit of it all, he clenched his fists, knuckles turning white from the loss of circulation, and he gritted his teeth, making a loud clicking noise before stomping in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

 

**A Few Months After Graduation, Last Year**

She took out her packed meal from the thermos, finding a vacant space in the corner of the garage, and she heard a click as she decompressed the lid, revealing a steamy looking beef stew. She reached into the container and grabbed a small carton of milk, placing it on her lap as she pressed her thumb onto the carton to rip open the beverage. She stared at the milk and her thought was distracted to her childhood best friend and his dislike for the nutrient-rich liquid, and she chuckled to herself. It had been about four months since he left their hometown, pursuing studies in chemistry at an out-of-state university, and while she was happy for Edward, she also missed him. Greatly. Especially now that she had turned eighteen, a fully-fledged adult, and moved out of Pinako’s home. She would come home to an empty house; a deafening silence, merely white noise that she could never get used to, and her face would grow crestfallen each time. She would often stare at the bulletin board in the living room, a rerun of happier times flooding her memory, and she would become melancholy.

“Hey, Winry,” a friendly timbre echoed in the quiet space and she was pulled back into the present.

Winry jerked her head up to the sound of the voice, and she smiled when she saw Russell walk into the light. “Oh! How are you, Russell?” she greeted enthusiastically, enveloping him into a bear hug. He held onto her form tightly and kept his position as long as he could, like he wouldn’t let her go.

“I’m good. I just wanted to visit… and see how you’re doing,” he replied as she pulled away. She noticed a mischievous smile carve onto his face.

“W-why are you smiling like that…?” she questioned suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he assured with a chuckle, “So, what have you been doing?”

She grinned and eagerly showed him what she had been working on. She had a gleam in her eyes as she spoke about her project, and the lilt of her voice was fused with a copious amount of energy, “Ahh see this? I fixed it! And this is extremely difficult to do.”

He reciprocated her excitement, “Very cool!” before inquiring her further, “...And that’s all you’ve been doing?”

“Well… I was helping Ed and Al pack a few months ago. That was tiring,” she chuckled.

“Ed… I remember him.” His brow turned into a frown at the mention of Edward’s name, a visible sign of disapproval, and it stirred a weird sensation in Winry’s stomach. “Ed never really liked me, did he? He always seemed to want to pick a fight with me,” he declared.

“Ahh… Ed’s just like that... Don’t um… take it too personally…” she answered meekly, letting out a nervous laughter.

“Are you and him a thing?”

“Wait, wha- I beg your pardon?” she stuttered, shock in the way her eyes widened.

“Are you and him _a thing_?” he repeated impatiently, and Winry could discern accusation in his tone.

“N-no… he’s just a childhood friend. We’re close that’s all!” Winry responded without missing a beat, taking a step backward reflexively, uneasiness coursing through her.

He watched her scared expression and chuckled lightly, a drastic change from his previous mien, and it stunned Winry in place. “I’m just playing with you,” he claimed, “I’m here because there’s a place I want to take you to, but we have to hurry before they close.”

“Where… are we going?” she tried to sound unassuming, but she couldn’t hide her apprehension.

“This new bakery that opened up. It’s not too far from here, we can just walk.”

“What’s… there that’s so important?” She could feel her heart started to thump rapidly, instinctively triggering nervous sweat on her back and forehead, and she felt unpleasant air permeate the space.

“You’ll see,” he smiled and offered his hand to her.

Winry studied his gaze, uncertain of his intention, and she could feel a sense of doom claw at the back of her head. She had been alarmed by his sudden shift in reaction, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt, ignoring her instinct and assuring herself that Russell wasn’t there to cause harm. She also missed the company of someone her age, someone she could relate to and share a conversation with, and she relented. As independent as Winry was, there were days when she preferred company, and today was one of those days. She trusted him, she convinced herself of that; after all, she had known him since high school, and he had never abused her trust. And so she took his hand with a slight hesitation and followed him out of the garage, feeling him weave his fingers with hers as they left.

 

They arrived at a rustic little café. The façade of the building was a chocolate-colored brick with colorful flower pots hanging along the wide doorway. Several small round tables were set up at the patio, farmhouse style chairs encircling each one, and it reminded Winry of a scene from a black and white movie that Riza made her watch. She huffed with relief and laughed inwardly at her earlier doubts.

They entered, and Russell faced Winry with a gleam in his eyes, “You told me before that your mom made the best apple pie, right? And that the secret is in the crust, and that no one has ever been able to replicate that.”

Winry nodded, looking confused.

“Well, I’ve been trying out all these different bakeries to see which one serves the best apple pie... And this bakery has the perfect apple pie.” He waved to the woman behind the counter, pointing to a slice of the dessert displayed on the refrigerated case. Winry gazed at him with surprise, feeling flattered that he remembered such a forgettable story.

They took a seat at a small table by the window, and Winry turned her gaze to observe the patrons outside, but in her periphery, she could feel his stare lingered on her. As if on cue, the waitress brought their order, providing Winry with some respite from his agonizing stare and she breathed a sigh of relief. Winry stared at the pie, spooning a bite and shoving it into her mouth. She looked up to see Russell watching her, examining her expression with a curious smile, “What do you think?”

She chewed and nodded, and she swallowed her food, “This is really good!”

“I told you!” he exclaimed.

She laughed in agreement, savoring the taste of cream and sugar on her tongue, but she stopped in her track as she saw Russell lean forward, inching closer to her face. Winry froze in place, appalled at the situation that was unraveling before her, and she could feel her blood rush to her head. She felt a dizzying sensation, and everything around her became exponentially brighter. Winry’s gaze deadpanned on the round table separating them, and she suddenly had the urge to crawl under the table and cower. _Was he doing what she thought he was doing?_

Russell pressed forward, touching the tip of his nose against hers, and he placed a soft kiss on her lips with his eyes closed. The kiss lingered there for a while, and Winry panicked as she felt an uncomfortable rush through her body at the thought of Edward. _Why did she feel like she was cheating on him?_ She sat still, frozen against her will, and she heard the table screeched against the floor as Russell made an effort to close the gap, extending his hand to caress her cheek. Winry leaned against the backrest of her chair, stretching the distance between them, face flushed with a dark red hue it looked as though she was sunburned. She then stood up abruptly, suppressing her words, but she darted her sight to the exit sign, and Russell realized what he had done as he looked into her eyes.

Russell quickly apologized, stammering loudly as his brows furrowed with regret, “So-sorry! But I thought… you seemed like you were so happy with me… And I thought since Edward left you, I...”

She muttered a quick reply, leaving no room for awkward conversation, “It’s… it’s fine, Russell… You’re a great friend and all, but I… I don’t like you like that. I hope you understand…”

“Ye-yeah, sorry again. No, I get it. Please forget it ever happened,” he looked away from her, but she thought she could discern the sincerity in his apology, and her expression softened.

“Don’t worry. All forgotten,” she smiled. “I’m going to go home... It’s getting late and Pinako’s probably waiting for me anyway. Thanks again for the pie.” She quickly rushed to the door, her heart still beating loudly in her chest, and her stride slowly turned into a jog.

He watched her leave with a stunned expression, and he could feel a jumble of emotions rush through his veins. _Did she just reject him?_ His lips then straightened, clicking his teeth together loudly, and his eyes bore fire into the distance. Anger surged through his body, and he clenched his fist on the table so tight that he could feel his fingernails dig deep into his palm. He loudly banged the table, wobbling it and cluttering the stainless-steel spoon onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

**Last Week…**

_“Winry, can you please come get me? I can’t drive home right now…”_ He sounded inebriated, she thought.

She replied to the man over the phone, “Alright. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

She heard a chime at the end of the call and she looked at the flashing message on her phone from Riza. She thought of her sisters and how the long-awaited day was approaching. Riza had always been the sensible one, the open minded one, the one who had tried to keep in touch with her, but as much as Winry appreciated her effort, she knew where Riza’s loyalties lay. Winry didn’t blame her for choosing sides; she understood fully why she had done what she did, but Winry would lie if she didn’t feel the slightest bit of anger at the thought of her allegiance. Riza hadn’t once visited nor been there when Winry needed her most… like right now.

She thought about Pinako lying on the hospital bed; her body looked so weak and weary, and she cried as she pondered over the idea of her death. Pinako had been a mother to her, caring for her and watching over her like a daughter, and where had her sisters been? Olivier sure didn’t give a shit about them... She scoffed at the thought, and anger slowly built up from inside.

She stared at her phone, re-reading Riza’s message over and over, contemplating on how to reply. In her mind, though, she had already made up her answer. She took a deep breath, chanting to herself the mantra to help her calm down, and she exhaled loudly through her mouth. She knew someone had to start, someone _had_ to initiate, and she decided that it would be her; their estrangement could no longer be tolerated. She reasoned that she was stronger now, and her thoughts had matured, and she was ready to confront whatever disagreement that had separated them. She repeated how the discussion would play out in her mind, explaining to herself the reason Olivier had gotten so angry at her and why her sister had decided to cut off all communications with her.

She walked into her room and changed into a button-down shirt, grabbing a thick jacket from her closet, and headed out of her house. She strolled past the living room, looking at the tacked photos of her friends and family on the billboard, and her eyes lingered on her two sisters and she smiled to herself. She would make sure to get them back this year.

She got into her car and drove to the address he provided her, placing a bottle water in the cupholder and slipped a pack of aspirin into her pocket, reminding herself that her friend might need all the help he could get. She arrived at a large house and neon bright disco light could be seen from the inside, reflecting its green, red, and blue color on the glass windows. She heard loud music booming and obnoxious noises of people screaming and laughing at the same time. She looked at her clock, noticing that it was close to midnight and that she needed to get home soon so she could wake up early for her job interview the next day. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, waiting for her friend to emerge from the door at any second. A few minutes passed by, and when she didn’t see him she became worried, anxiety at the back of her mind. She switched off the ignition, slipped the car key in her pocket, and she ventured inside the house.

She entered the boisterous room packed with sweaty bodies. The stink of body odor and alcohol wafted in the air, and she wanted to gag. It was a vulgar scene: heavy lidded eyes as high as a kite dancing and climbing over each other, and skin on skin contact that felt overly invasive. The large house she saw outside looked tiny from the inside, packed with too many drunk teenagers and drug addicts. She couldn’t see the walls, only relying on the spinning disco ball attached to the ceiling to guide her around the room. She forced herself through the crowd, separating inebriated couples as she traversed through the party.

She tiptoed, lifting her head up, attempting to find his face among a sea of people. She was glad he had blonde hair as it would make her search easier in the mob of brunettes and raven-haired partygoers. She didn’t see him on the first floor, hoping she didn’t miss the nooks and crannies of the house, and she ventured to a set of stairs to her right. She proceeded up the staircase, carefully stepping side to side to avoid the sleeping bodies lying on them.

She arrived at the landing and glanced at several doors outlining the hallway. They all had been closed, but she could hear sounds coming from behind them. They sounded like moaning and giggling, and she felt a discomforting squirm in her stomach. She questioned herself why she was there, chastising her undying courage and needless bravery in her mind. She never knew him to be the type to attend these kinds of parties, but she tried to justify his reasoning privately. She understood that people change, and she remembered how his mother’s recent death had affected him and his brother so greatly that perhaps he needed to drown out his sorrow.

She leaned her ear to the second door on her left, listening for any clues if it was safe to enter. She couldn’t hear noise from the inside, and she turned the knob quietly, peeking inside the dimly lit room. She found a figure sitting at the edge of the bed, gaze fixated on the floor and neck craned so low toward his knees that he looked like he was ready to pass out. She recognized the short blonde hair in the dark and she sighed in relief at the sight of him, taking small steps inside the room.

He sat in silence, hair in a tangled mess, and his eyes looked droopy from exhaustion. Winry couldn’t hear her steps as she ghosted toward him, the muffled sound of music blaring from downstairs filled the room. He, however, could see her from his periphery and he turned his head, deadpanning on her face as she got closer.

“Winry…” he slurred quietly, and she could barely hear him. He smiled weakly with heavy lidded eyes, and he reeked of alcohol.

“Hey, let’s get you home, okay?” she told him.

“Winry, you look… very pretty… Did I ever tell you… that I like… you?” he looked into her eyes.

She suppressed a laugh, grabbing his arm to prop him up to a standing position, “You’re drunk. Can you hold on to me? My car’s outside.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Winry, I like you… I like you… a lot,” he repeated.

Winry ignored him and instead asked him to loop his arm around her as she attempted to shoulder his weight, “Alright, can you hang on to me?”

“Winry, why are you… ignoring me? I… love you… Don’t you love… me?” his breath stank.

“Russell, I like you… as a friend. Now, let’s get you home,” Winry appeased him of his question, too occupied in the logistics of the situation.

Without warning he snapped, his voice booming in her ears, “What do you mean?!”

“I mean… I like you, but not like that…” Winry answered quietly. She felt a strange sensation wash over her, like danger looming over her, and her heart started to palpitate and sweat formed on her hairline.

He spun her around violently, gripping both of her shoulders tightly while staring at her with hostility, and he confronted her with an angry cadence, “Who?! Is it Ed? That cunt!” He gripped her wrist, and she could feel his hold on her was stopping her blood flow, numbing her upper arm.

“Russell, let go! You’re hurting me!” she pleaded, fear in her voice.

He pushed her to the bed, hovering over her body, and pinning her wrists above her head. She could feel tears in the corner of her eyes, and she screamed loudly, hoping for someone downstairs to hear, “Russell, please let me go! You’re drunk!”

He grabbed at her shirt wildly, pushing it up roughly until it cinched just below her breasts. She could feel his calloused hand on her skin, scraping and scratching at it wildly. She panicked, so afraid for her life that she screamed again, louder this time. He muffled her mouth with his hand, whispering to her that it was a useless attempt. She then squirmed, struggling to release his grip. She was successful, kicking his body off of her and crawling on the bed so she could make a run for the door.

He jumped after her, grabbing her by the ankle and dragged her back under him. He pinned her to the ground with his body, and he straddled her as he placed rough kisses on her neck and trailed kisses down her chest. He ripped her shirt off, the sound of fabric tearing filling the room, and she twisted wildly as she shouted for him to come to his senses. She cried, tears flowing rapidly, pleading to him to stop again and again, but in his inebriated state he ignored her plea.

He unbuttoned her pants and pulled it halfway down her thighs as he slid his finger into her underwear. She sobbed, screaming and crying but the music downstairs drowned the sound of her cries. She had exerted the last of her energy, no longer having the stamina to save herself from the imminent danger. She tried kicking again, but he easily overpowered her as he lay his weight on her legs. She writhed her body as he moved, and she was able to release a hand from his clutch and she slapped him hard on the cheek. He glared at her, furious as he touched his reddening cheek, and he punched her in the nose and Winry’s universe turned dark as she fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m sorry if you’re a Russell fan :’(… but good news is Royai/LivMiles incoming within the next 2 chapters.


	6. the catalyst part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Part 2 of chapter 5. Thank you to Nuzha and dvltgr for the reviews on the last chapter.

**Armstrong Residence, 10:45PM**

She paces around the room, hand creasing her forehead as she listens to the speaking voice of the man over the phone. Her apparent anxiety shows in her speech, yet it is slowly changing to one of relief as she reaches the end of the call. “Thanks, Alphonse. Yeah, that’s fine. Okay, I will talk to you later.”

“Is she okay?” the brunette questions with a concerned lilt.

“Yeah, Becca. She’s fine. She’ll be spending the night there.”

Riza trudges to the sofa, plopping herself on the springy cushion next to her friend as she carelessly tosses her phone onto the coffee table. Her eyes are sullen, heavy eyelids threatening to squeeze shut from the pounding headache, and she could have sworn her heart has stopped beating completely. Rebecca pats the length of her arm, a comforting gesture that’s meant to help alleviate her worries, and Riza produces a smile at her in appreciation. Rebecca notices, however, that there’s a persistent chill around her, a sense of doom that has been attaching itself onto her like a parasite, and it has been consuming her strength each and every second.

“I just… I didn’t think she was going to do that without calling... or texting? Can you imagine what could have happened if she got lost?” she stammers incessantly, “or what would happen if someone had kidnap--”

“Shh, Riza. Everything’s fine. We know where she is now, and you know they’ll take good care of her.” Rebecca leans in for a hug, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and squeezing it lightly. She looks at her best friend with a pitiful expression; the sudden burst of emotions is very uncharacteristic of her, and it worries Rebecca.

Riza rarely seems vulnerable; the mask she wears is normally one of stoicity. Whether she does this to detach herself from pain or to distance herself from prying eyes, Rebecca isn’t sure, but for as long as she has known her, Riza has always been like that. She’s closed off most days, preferring to sit and listen rather than speak about herself, but today much about herself is out in the open, particularly her caring and protective side.

Rebecca stares at her friend, seeing her palm her face, sanding the skin with calloused hands as though the motion would make her problems disappear. Rebecca springs up from her seat and rushes to the kitchen for a cup of water and a wet towel, hoping that it would help rid some of her ailment.

“Here, put this on your forehead. It will help.” Rebecca swipes her friend’s bangs out of the way, slapping a warm, wet towel on her forehead, and gently pushes her by the shoulder so that she can lean on the sofa. She takes the water from Rebecca’s hand, muttering a quick thanks and touching the liquid to the tip of her tongue before taking large, loud gulps. Riza sighs in relief, slouching her back on the sofa as the water washes down her throat and into her stomach.

Riza had come home to a vacant apartment. The dark space had an eerie quietness, and the lack of circulation in the air exposed the absence of its occupant, and she immediately thought of Winry. She knew she shouldn’t have trusted her instinct to leave her sister alone. Winry hadn’t looked well, even when she insisted she was, and as much as Riza had worried, a little voice in her head was telling her that her sister could take care of herself. After all, she did survive on her own after their separation.

Riza had waited patiently, occasionally glancing at the ticking clock, but one hour passed and then another, and the anxiety that had been buried at the back of her head dug itself out, showing its ugly face. She searched for her sister as she knew how: calling her cellphone numerous times, calling Olivier only to be redirected to her voicemail, and as a last resort calling Pinako even when she knew that she didn’t want to plague the old lady with worry. In the end, Riza didn’t have the heart to tell Pinako of her sister’s predicament, choosing to disconnect the call with a cheerful tone and desperately hoping the woman doesn’t detect anything from their sudden and brief conversation. In her apprehensive fit, she called her best friend and Rebecca immediately flew to her side as she discerned her nervous tone.

Rebecca studies her behavior, paying close attention to her fidgeting and how she would occasionally take deep breaths . She wishes she could provide more than comforting words, but she knows that that’s all she can offer.

“Riza, Winry’s in safe hands, okay?” Rebecca smiles softly as she takes her hand into her palm, blanketing it with hers.

Riza nods, and then uncharacteristically pouts at her friend, an endearing look that makes Rebecca want to hug her tightly. “Rebecca… Am I a horrible sister?”

“Aww Riza, you’re not! You’re an awesome sister. I wish I had a sister like you!” Rebecca pulls her into a bear hug, the skin of her cheek pressed onto Riza’s, and Riza returns her embrace.  They laugh in unison at the gesture.

“Good thing they require 24 hours to file a missing person’s report, because you know me. I can't wait that long,” Riza rolls her eyes, and warm colors are starting to bloom on her face as she chuckles. Rebecca laughs at her ridiculousness, shaking her head, but she mentally cheers at her friend’s change of attitude.

Riza smiles gratefully, “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Becca. I'm fine now.”

“Of course, Riza. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Rebecca comforts her, rubbing her shoulder gently.

“I hope I didn't interrupt anything when I called you over…”

Rebecca replies casually, “No, you're fine. I was just with Jean.”

Riza stares at her with wide eyes, feeling remorse as she apologizes profusely, “Rebecca, I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you say so?”

Rebecca giggles as she redirects a question back at her friend, “Hey, you want to hear something?”

“What?” Riza looks at her questioningly.

Rebecca couldn't help but squeal from joy as she reveals the news, “Jean finally asked me out!”

Riza jolts from her seat with surprise, beaming at her best friend with a delightful look. “Oh Rebecca, that's wonderful news! And you've been waiting for this for how long now? A year?” Riza grins as she playfully pats her shoulder.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she replies sarcastically. Rebecca thrusts a throw pillow in Riza’s face and Riza can see the reddening of her cheeks and how she looks so endearingly happy. Riza admits that she’s slightly envious of her friend, being able to share such a close bond with someone else, just like the heroine in her romance novels.

“So… what made him decide to ask you now all of a sudden? I’m pretty sure he’s liked you for a while,” Riza asks curiously.

“I don’t know for sure, but I have a guess or two.”

“And that would be…?”

“Mustang.”

“Mustang.” Riza reaffirms, but she shoots her a questioning look.

“Okay, have you seen how the marketing girls ogle him? I swear they look like they're ready to devour him!”

“Right… but how is this related to you and Jean?”

“Well, I think Jean’s afraid Mustang would make a move on me. You know how popular he is with the ladies. Asking them out to lunch and stuff...” Rebecca rolls her eyes.

Riza arches her eyebrows, hovering a hand over her mouth as she laughs in disbelief. Who would have thought the prick is so popular with the ladies? After all the insulting comments he said about her, she only feels pity for the women chasing after him. But the more she thinks about him, the more she understands his appeal. She supposes that he has a handsome face, with deep, dark eyes and a bewitching smile that rarely leaves his face. It doesn't hurt that he also dresses well, a slim suit that never fails to hug his well-muscled body and raven black hair that’s always slicked back so neatly. From the moment she met him, Riza has to continually distract herself from his sudden appearance on her mind. Even tonight, his image would randomly pop in her head, seemingly to have made a home in the recesses of her brain. She swallows thickly as she realizes just how much she’s thought about him, and it’s making her feel ill to the core.

Rebecca’s expression turns serious as she shares the next piece of information, “And talking about Mustang... Jean told me he caught up with a friend from school, who apparently worked at Mustang’s previous organization. Heymans Breda, do you remember him?”

Riza nods.

“Mustang was his boss… oh and get this, Heymans said he was actually a good boss!”

“Oh, no way,” Riza expresses sarcastically. “Are we talking about the same Mustang here?”

“No, he’s talking about a stripper named Mustang.” Rebecca jokes, prompting Riza to giggle.

“Anyways, Heymans said that Mustang fought tooth and nail for his promotion. That was apparently the last item on his to-do list before joining our company.”

Riza hums out loud as she processes the information, but doubt hasn’t left her, taking everything Rebecca says with a grain of salt.

“So it made me think that maybe he’s not that bad of a boss…”Rebecca confesses.

“I don't know. I still don't like him,” Riza replies firmly without hesitation.

“Well, think about it... He technically hasn't done anything wrong. He may have overworked us a bit more than usual, but it’s not like he was doing it out of malice.”

Riza contemplates his managerial image and how he’s managed to make her stay at work longer than any of her previous bosses. And then she remembers their little incident at the bookstore, his rude comments, and how they never fail to make her grit her teeth at the memory of it.

“Becca, enough talk about Mustang. What does Jean have planned for your date?”

Rebecca gleams with excitement, “Oh oh, do you have the rest of the night to spare because this is going to be long!”

 

* * *

 

**Las Vegas, 10:45PM**

She flips her body over to the other side of the queen-sized bed, depriving herself of skin contact and the body heat that enveloped her just moments earlier. She pulls the blanket over her naked body, exhaling loudly as she comes down from her high. She gazes at the popcorn ceiling right above her and studies the expansive grooves as she awaits guilt to wash over. She finds it strange that it hasn’t come.

She thinks about the consequences of their action, about _his_ wife, and what would happen if she finds out. And then she starts to think about her career and how their affair would put a dent on their working relationship. She ponders if what they have done is even legal as her mind actively browses the employee handbook, trying hard to remember the clause about romantic relationships. Nevertheless, her pessimistic self is certain that they have breached some type of professional misconduct, and she admits to herself that she’s afraid of the repercussion and how it would smear her reputation.

Her mind travels to her apartment, her living situation, and how this newly acquired bond would play out in her daily life. And then she thinks about her sisters, and if Riza would silently judge her or how Winry would confront her. Winry... _She’s_ also been in the back of her mind.

The man next to her moves closer, the warmth of his body inches away from her skin, and his proximity sends a thrilling pleasure within her without warning. He props himself up on one shoulder, body facing her completely, and he caresses her soft cheek with affection.

“A penny for your thought?” he asks quietly with a warm smile tugging on his lips.

She cranes her neck to face him, torso still glued to the bed from exhaustion and the clawing doubts, and he crawls over her body to read her blank expression. He places his hands on either side of her shoulders, leaning in slowly to plant a chaste kiss, and she shivers from the union of their lips. She knows she shouldn’t revel in their romance, but her mind is a jumble of emotions right now, and it’s fogging up her rationale.

“Are you alright? You weren’t saying anything...” Miles inquires with concern.

She fixates on his face. “Are we... making a mistake?”

“What do you mean?” His amber eyes are searching hers for an answer.

She deadpans as she grips the blanket tightly, pulling it up higher to cover herself up to her chin, “You’re married and you’re my partner. I think… I think this is a mistake.”

He stares at her and she stares back, but he can see the uncertainty in her eyes. His smile disappears as he removes himself from his position, wanting to give her the space that she seems to need, but she grabs his wrist and holds onto it, begging him to stay.

“Look, Miles... Desmond, I'm sorry. I just... I have never been in this situation... I didn't foresee _this_ happening when we came here.”

“Neither did I.”

She confesses, “I should feel guilty, but honestly, I don’t. And I feel guilty for not feeling guilty…” She scoffs, “I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying...”

“Olivier, we’re in this together, so don't bear this burden alone. And yes, I _am_ married, but Lilian and I haven't been together for a few years now, do you understand?”

She studies his face and nods in understanding, and yet there’s a persistent question that has been waiting to spill out of her mouth since their kiss, and it’s poking holes in her heart. She _needs_ to confirm. “Is it... because of me?”

He pauses momentarily to contemplate his answer, but Olivier can see it as clear as day from his expression, and a semblance of guilt finally washes over her.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry...”

He gazes at her with a soft expression, “Don’t be. Our marriage is a ticking time bomb. We had issues even before you came along, but everything resurfaced and she decided to give me some space.”

He carefully reads her features, her bright blue eyes are calm and still, but he knows that she’s pondering over his answers, processing how she plays a part in his and his wife’s crumbling relationship. Olivier has always been logical, everything done by the book, and to have an affair come crashing down when she least expects is beyond her. She isn't sure how to move forward. A part of her chastises herself for letting the dust settle on them, blaming her disability for putting duties before emotions, faulting herself for succumbing into temptation.

“I have a feeling that you’re still hesitant about us...”

She nods.

“...but I also have other things on my mind,” she speaks truthfully, finding it impossible to hide her agenda from her partner.

He places his thumb and index finger on her chin, lifting it up gently so that she completely faces him. “I'm listening.”

She looks at the man before her, and she knows there's no other choice but to relent. She often wonders how he always manages to get her to do that. She begins, “I told you about Winry, right?”

He nods.

Olivier props herself up, sitting with her legs folded as she faces Miles in a meditative pose. He rests his hand on hers, slowly curling his fingers around them; she would occasionally squeeze it, giving herself the support she needs. She mulls over where to begin, how she should start her tale, and Olivier realizes that her relationship with her youngest sister has always been on rocky waters. Her sister’s personality is, perhaps, an almost exact replica of Olivier’s; so similar that they start to clash, their stubbornness playing a large part in their altercation.

“My parents passed away four years ago. I was already working in Portland at the time and Winry was in high school…. They were on the way to visit me… for my birthday... when they were hit by a drunk driver…”

He squeezes her hand gently.

“And I think that Winry blames me for their death… No, I _know_ she does. She told me back then that ‘if you didn’t live there, they would still be with us’...”

Her downcast eyes fixate on the white blanket, and she takes a deep breath.

“After we buried them, I wanted to move our family to start over, and LA is a big city and the experience would be great for our careers, but Winry said she wanted to stay... At least until high school graduation... But then her graduation came around... and she said she changed her mind and decided to help Pinako run our parents’ business instead.”

Olivier squeezes his hand, gathering her courage as she continues her story with a firm intonation.

“I _know_ there’s no future for her there! We barely survived when our parents were still alive. So how is she going to expect to live on such meager income? I just… I just want what’s best for everyone...”

He nods, gesturing for her to continue. He notices how she tilts her head down further, blonde hair covering her face as though avoiding his gaze.

“So this brings us to our current situation. She came knocking on our door just before our trip, and she had these sunken eyes like she hasn't slept for weeks. And then she started crying… And I don't--I didn’t know what to think, I have never seen her like that before...”

Her body shivers, and Miles can feel the tremble of her hand. She lifts her head up, and he can see desperation in her eyes as she furrows her eyebrows and clench her teeth.

“Miles… I… I know this is unlike me, but I am actually _afraid_ of facing her. I’m dreading the moment that we have to discuss what happened between us… But I’m also worried for her, _really_ worried for her and it’s eating me up inside… And… and I don’t know what to do...”

She watches as Miles gently extends his hand to touch her cheek, and it catches Olivier by surprise when she feels the warmth of his skin. He swipes at the liquid that has rolled down her eyes and onto her chin, tenderly brushing the moisture away with his thumb.

Olivier stares at him, eyes widening and glistening when she realizes what he is doing. Her breath is held, and she ghosts her trembling fingers over her face, touching the tears that have spilled over as she tells her story. Olivier finally understands then that she has been crying, something she hasn’t done for as long as she can remember, and only then she comes to term with her feelings.

She can feel more teardrops stream down her cheeks, like a dam bursting forth, and she is unable to stop the flow even when she wills it to do so. She looks at Miles and sees his soft expression, and he opens his arms to gather her in his embrace, protecting her quivering body. She loves her sister, she knows that, but it only strikes her now how much she actually cares, and the realization is tearing her apart brick by brick until the rest of her wall comes tumbling down.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Day, Lunch Time**

She shifts her weight between her legs as she awaits the traffic light to turn green, impatiently pressing the pedestrian crossing button numerous times. _Okay, second attempt_ , she repeats to herself with determination in her eyes. Between working over time and shelving some time for her sister, she’s barely able to breathe, completing as many errands as possible during her lunchtime and hoping to finally catch a break to edit her neglected manuscript. She is glad that her boss has been pulled to an off-site meeting, allowing her some respite.

She enters the same bookstore, casually waving back to the friendly man behind the cash register, and retraces the same steps with purpose. She frowns, thinking that whatever happened the previous day should not have hindered her from coming back, even when he’s _soiled_ her sanctuary with that unforgettable encounter. It is uncharacteristic of her to keep replaying the spiteful scene, but the week hasn’t been kind to her and she lets it distract her mind more than it should. She understands, though, that yesterday was clearly a one-time incident, an anomaly in her typically uneventful lunch breaks, and she finds solace in the thought. Besides, what are the chances that he will be here today? Fate isn’t that cruel.

She is wrong.

“Riza?” the familiar husky voice fills the air.

She can't believe her luck. The second time in the week; apocalypse is approaching faster than anticipated, the comets raining down on her violently. She wants to bury herself in the ground.

She shuffles her feet forward, facing him, and she can feel his stare weigh her down. She tries to stifle a sarcastic laugh as she cautiously approaches him, faking an enthusiastic tone, “Roy, how nice seeing you here... _Again_.”

Roy throws a smile at her, a smile so genuine it hurts her teeth. He acts as though everything is fine, pretending like nothing has happened between them. “What are you doing here, Riza?”

“I could say the same about you…” she mumbles under her breath, purposefully shifting her gaze away to look at the book collections on the shelf. The smile on his face remains as he trails his gaze on her, and his presence precipitates a peculiar sensation in her chest. She defers the feeling as the residual anger from their last encounter, but even then it doesn’t sound quite accurate.

“Did you say something?” Roy asks.

“Oh nothing. I’m just looking for a book,” she replies casually, trailing her fingers over the book spines, eyes transfixed on a random book title that seems to suddenly occupy all of her attention. She slips her hand inside her sweater pocket, fidgeting with her fingers and mentally reminding herself to behave as amicably as possible. Her job is on the line, after all.

“A book? There’s a million books here. Indulge me,” he chuckles.

Riza can discern his interest in her activity by the rising intonation of his voice, and this is precisely what she fears. He is now completely facing her, arms uncrossed, and he casually slips his hands in his pocket, waiting for her to speak. Riza can feel his unrelenting gaze track her every move, and she knows it will take effort to make him leave.

“’Call Me by Your Name’,” Riza answers flatly in the hope that he will pick up on her disinterested tone and leave her to her own devices.

“Pardon?”

She cocks her head to face him, light brown eyes locking into his dark ones, enunciating the book title while trying hard to hide the annoyance lacing her voice, “It’s called ‘Call. Me. By. Your. Name’.”

“Oh okay. What is it about?” he asks innocently.

She sighs to herself, scrambling for ideas to end their conversation without the necessary confrontation while searching for the one book she’s been dying to get her hand at. She stumbles on the title and excitedly grabs a copy, weighing it in her hand. One mission accomplished, and she feels slightly better already. Now if only the man would stop pestering her, it would make today the best day of the week.

“Well, it’s about this seventeen year-old boy who fell in love with an older boy. The book tells how their romance blossoms during that time and follows it twenty years later. The end.” She answers his question with a finality, hoping that it would end his line of questioning.

The look on his face, however, suggests otherwise. He seems to be enjoying their little encounter as he takes a copy of the same paperback, flipping through the pages and skimming the content while humming to himself. His presence is like weed sprouting incessantly, no matter how often she plucks, it would sprout back up before she realizes. He relaxes his form, leaning casually on the wooden bookcase while shifting his eyes back and forth between the words on the page. He doesn’t say anything but continues to read, seemingly immersed in the novel. Riza glances at him and sees the permanently carved smile on his face as he peruses the book, and it’s starting to bother her to the point where she can no longer hide her irritation.

She tips her head forward, accusation blaring in her tone, “Okay, excuse me-but what are you _really_ doing here?”

He looks up from the page and calmly replies, “I’m looking for a book for my sister. Her birthday is coming up.”

“Right…” she states sarcastically, blatantly rolling her eyes as she can no longer contain her annoyance.

He pauses momentarily, looking at her irked expression, before finally deciding to broach the elephant in the room.

“Look, Riza,” he starts with a serious tone, “I realize you probably heard a lot of what I said that day... It’s obvious from the look you gave me... but I swear I didn’t mean a single thing. I just wanted... to get my friend to stop asking….”

Riza pauses, her heart skips a beat as he nails the cause of her anger. She faces him, boring her eyes into his as she crosses her arms over her chest.

He resumes his speech with the same genuine intonation, “I’m an idiot, Riza, and I’m asking you to forgive me.” He treads carefully as he takes a step toward her, “Riza, I'm very _very_ sorry. Please forgive me.” He stares at her with such earnestness, dark eyes pleading for forgiveness, and it’s somehow starting to melt her icy resolve.

She processes his apology in her head, and  she is honestly taken aback by his action. The sincerity of his monologue is rendering her speechless, leaving her with doubt on how to move forward. It was easier when they were both actively trying to avoid each other.

He notices her unchanging expression, and it's prompting him to quickly stammer a peace offering, hoping that it would be enough to buy her forgiveness, “Riza, I’m sorry, and if it makes you feel any better, I will let you punch me in the face.”

The image of him as an overbearing manager slowly dissipates. There’s an angelic voice in her ear pressuring her to accept his apology, but she feels he deserves to be trifled with for the discontent she’s carried with her since their fated encounter. And as much as she tried to avoid him at work yesterday, she knew that it was impossible. His presence during meetings inundated her, diverting her stellar focus from the project at hand to the gnawing sensation at the bottom of her belly. She just couldn’t stop looking at the clock as its hands moved slowly toward six o’clock. She mulls over his offer, not that the idea of punching him hasn’t crossed her mind, but she knows it’s unlike her to hold a grudge. However, the cat’s been let out of the bag, and she decides that there’s no merit in hiding her displeasure. She begins to feel a strange sensation in her hand, invigorated by his atonement, and it’s beguiling her to take risk and play with fire.

She smirks, rubbing her hands together and balling her fist, as if getting ready to strike him in the face. She sees his face gradually turn worrisome as he concluded that he really had overstepped his boundary in regard to his previous statement about her. He stares at her anxiously, loudly gulping and stammering a longer string of apologies out of his mouth as he realizes that she is going to hurt him. She can see a nervous flush on his face when his hands flail aimlessly as he goes over the top in showing remorse. It’s a pitiful, albeit satisfying, view, and Riza feels lighter as the load of her anger is lifted off of her.

Riza stifles a laugh, clenching her lips together, but she knows it’s a futile attempt. Her body starts to quiver, and she bursts into a boisterous laugh, placing a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as she tries her hardest to prevent unwanted attention from the other patrons. He’s surprised at her unexpected reaction, his mouth gaping in disbelief. He stands silently, staring at her as she calms down from her own amusement. It dawns on him that she’s pulled his strings, laughing at his expense, and it clearly shows how much pleasure she receives from the simple action. He plants his hands on his hip, chuckling to himself. He really does deserve this. He shakes his head, responding to his defeat, “Ha-ha, alright, you got me.”

She clutches her arm as she comes down from her laugh, but then she giggles adoringly and looks into his eyes, and it is something he doesn’t expect.

He immediately freezes in place, searching for the beat of his stilling heart. The sound of her elation has become an unanticipated music to his ears, and it is pounding loudly in his chest. He looks at her brown eyes as it sparkles brilliantly under the bright white light, and he can feel a bead of nervousness form as he swallows thickly. His elevated heart rate is slowly tensing the muscles in his body, and for no discernable reason he starts to see her a little differently.

She piqued his interest when he first met her, and it wasn’t only because of her pretty face but also because of her reputation as a respectful employee within the company. And the longer he works with her, the more he appreciates how she doesn’t complain when he overloads her with projects or how she plows through his ridiculous assignments with a smile on her face... But then this little incident happened, and he would be lying if he says that her change of behavior toward him doesn’t bother him in the least bit.

She proceeds to tuck a stray lock behind her ear as she watches his nervous expression, and her little ministration is attracting his attention to her long flowy hair, noticing how the length shapes her face nicely or how the golden color complements her flushed cheeks beautifully. He knows he’s entering dangerous waters, and for a brief moment he wishes he had met her under a different circumstance, preferably one where he isn’t her boss and one where he hasn’t pissed her off.

He gulps. “So… am I forgiven?” he asks with such uncertainty that Riza can’t help but feel a tinge of pity for the poor man.

“You are.” Riza smiles and she can see his face beam with joy. She picks up where their previous conversation has left off, finally free to be herself again around him, “So you were saying you need to find a book for your sister? What genre are you looking for?”

He sighs in relief and replies with a smile, “She likes romance novels.”

“If you want romance, there’s loads over there in that area.” She points her finger to a section several bookshelves behind him. She steps away from her position toward the direction of her finger, and her other hand reflexively tries to catch his arm to show him the way but she realizes the inappropriateness of her action and drops her hand to her side before he notices.

He cocks his eyebrows and looks around, clearly confused by the direction she provides him. She looks at him with a small smile, and she herself is taken aback by the sudden suggestion that flies right out of her mouth, “Do you want me to show you around?”

He shoots her a wide smile, “I’d love that.”

Her heart thuds at his answer, happy and surprised that he has taken up on her offer, and she promptly gives him a tour of the bookstore, chanting mantras to herself to ensure she doesn’t get overly excited when talking about books.

“Here is where they have the best seller collection. If your sister’s into poetry, ‘Milk and Honey’ by Rupi Kaur is a delightful read,” she continues, handing him a copy of the book, “or if she likes slow burn type of romance, there’s ‘Atonement’ by Ian McEwan.”

He nods, acknowledging her recommendations as he shifts through the pages of the book in his hand.

Riza motions her hand toward a larger bookcase, located in one of the smaller recesses of the store. “And here’s where you can find all the best romance literature. Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, you name it.” Riza picks out a novel from the shelf, flicking the top of the book and lifting it up to her face with a smile on her face, “I would recommend ‘Pride and Prejudice’ if she’s never read that. It’s a classic... and it’s my favorite.”

“Why do you like that one?” he asks with a curious lilt, stepping closer to close the gap between them.

“Because,” she pauses momentarily as she summarizes her answer, excitement in the tone of her voice as she looks into his eyes, “I love Elizabeth Bennet’s character! She’s so quick witted and isn’t afraid to speak her mind, but she’s not flawless... She's the heroine from the book, by the way. In case you don't know.”

A part of him is entranced by her excitement, and he replies with a chuckle, “ _‘My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me’_. I get why you like her. I like her character, too. Rare for a woman during that time.”

She’s mute as she stares at him with a blank expression.

“What?”

“You just... Did you... just quote Elizabeth Bennet?” she stammers, astonishment displayed across her face.

“Why are you so surprised?” he asks casually, unfazed by what he had just done. He reaches for the copy in her hand, unintentionally grazing her finger in the process, and he can feel the warmth of her skin.

“But.. I thought you said you needed help looking for a romance novel?” she accuses sharply.

“Well you see, I never said I needed help. I only said I was _looking_ for a book for my sister.” He grins, slicking his hair back.

She smiles sheepishly as she discerns a playful glint in his eyes. “Alright, fair enough.”

“I grew up with sisters, so our bookshelf was stocked with romance novels. I’m pretty sure I’ve read most of Austen’s work,” he informs her without missing a beat.

“That’s very impressive...” she mutters quietly. Something about the idea is shattering his arrogant image, replacing it with one of gentleness.

“I do prefer reading political science publications though. I also love history. Topics like the World War always intrigue me,” he laughs, gazing into her eyes. “Do you read those?”

“Of course, but not as much as you, probably.” She smiles as she meets his eyes, and only then she realizes just how deep and fascinating they really are, and a part of her wants to get to know him better.

“How about this?” he suggests, taking a step closer, gaze still fixated on her. “I’m sure you’ve been to the LA Public Library, but have you ever attended any of the exhibits?”

Riza purses her lips, “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, I attended a few since I moved here, and there’s one that ends this weekend. It’s an exhibit about the cruelty and aftermath of war, and I’ve been wanting to go to this one for a while...” he explains, but there’s a slight pause in his speech, prompting her to wonder what else he has to say. He turns away for a second, and she can see his mouth form a word before he retracts it. He gulps as he gathers courage, and he faces her and mutters quickly, “Do you want to go together?”

Her heart stops as she registers his question, and she feels flutters in her stomach. She looks at him with a blank expression, feeling startled and delighted at the same time. She wants to say yes and yet she’s in such a surprise that she’s suddenly struggling to speak. She acknowledges that he has successfully toyed with her myriad of emotions today, even if he doesn't know it.

He breaks the silence, “I mean, I get it if you don’t want to go and that’s fine. Don’t wor--”

She interrupts him, croaking a resounding “yes”, and she scolds herself mentally for sounding so eager to accept. He looks at her and a grin slowly forms on his lips, and she can feel her cheeks turn red from the rush of blood to her face. She doesn’t know why she feels flustered. For all she knew, this could be entirely educational, and yet she can’t help but feel like jumping from joy.

“Great!” he exclaims, “I’ll pick you up at noon on Saturday?”

Riza wills her body to calm down, and for the most part she is successful, but she still can’t suppress the wide smile on her face. “Sounds good.”

He smiles back at her endearingly and the image is plastered on her mind. He slips his hand into his pocket and reaches for his phone to look at the time, “Should we head back to work? It’s getting late.”

She nods, strolling alongside him. She can feel the closeness of his body as they walk side by side, constantly invading each other’s space, and yet neither of them wants to distance themselves from the other. Her thought flies to Saturday, and she suddenly feels giddy from the anticipation. Her mind starts to plan the attire for the day, what she’s going to do with her hair, and she can’t help but wonder if he feels as excited as she is. Her hand grazes his briefly by accident, and she admittedly enjoys the touch of his skin on hers even when she wonders if it’s appropriate to feel this way. A large part of her is willing time to stop so that she may revel in the short moment before their arrival back in the office, the place where they have to go back to being manager and subordinate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated


	7. hopes & dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The long overdue EdWin, and some Royai. Hope you enjoy!

**Off-Campus Housing, Los Angeles, 11:45AM**

She embraces with such intensity he can barely breathe. Her grip crumples his shirt, stretching the fabric so tightly that his own collar is starting to choke him, and yet she isn't showing signs of letting go. If anything, her arms are crushing him with each passing second.

He is entirely surprised by her reaction, but he returns the hug with the same eagerness as she sighs in relief from the comfort of his familiar scent. She tucks her head in the crook of his neck, and as he closes his eyes and revels in her warmth, realization hits him that he can now rest his chin easily on top of her crown. A tinge of sadness washes over him at the fact, because his growth accounts for the number of years they have been apart, and a large part of him chastises himself as he comprehends what a terrible friend he has been.

Jovial laughs suddenly occupy the room, and Edward’s train of thought is interrupted, jolting him back to reality. He notes the position they’re in, and he becomes embarrassed as a shade of red creep up on his face. He eyes his brother sitting on the sofa across him with a wide grin on his face, his girlfriend sitting next to him with a cheeky smile, and he immediately loosens the embrace, regretting the loss of her body heat.

“Brother, she really misses you,” Alphonse teases, “She’s been waiting for you since this morning!”

And with that, he completely removes his arms from around her waist, patting at her back stiffly and letting out an awkward laugh as one hand rubs the back of his head. Realization hits Winry just a minute after, and she immediately pushes Edward away by the chest, her cheeks burning so hot she feels like her entire body is on fire.

Edward landed merely an hour ago, having taken public transportation to Alphonse and Mei’s apartment as directed, and he has been anxious to see the both of them again even if he had only seen them a few days prior. He, however, has been even more anxious to see one particular person. Riza had reached out to him a few days prior, informing him that she would be too busy to take him around town but not before letting him know that her sister will be available to keep him company. Her sister. And he knows she wasn't talking about Olivier, which means the person accompanying him will be Winry. Winry. The girl that has been on his mind ever since he left his hometown. The girl he intends to have back in his life.

He had entered Al’s apartment and was completely baffled as he was forced to drop his luggage abruptly to his side when the young woman ran into his arms. And while he was delighted that she had run to him and clutched to his form like glue, he was also mortified as he registered the teasing laughs and two pairs of watchful eyes on them.

“There’s a spare bedroom if you guys need it,” Mei jokes, unable to stop giggling as she regards the pair whose cheeks are so red they look sunburned, “Winry stayed there a couple nights ago, she can show you where it is!”

Winry stammers as she places a hand on her blushing cheek, “N-no! That-that won’t be necessary!”

Al and Mei rise from the sofa, approaching the two, and Al wraps his arms around both of them snugly. “Mei is just kidding, Winry.” Al pats his brother’s back, “Welcome back, brother!”

“Oh, I wasn't kidding!” Mei winks at Edward, and he can feel the moisture on his back seeps through his shirt from the embarrassment. “Anyway, Al and I are going to the market to buy some groceries. You two can stay here and catch up. We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Mei smiles mischievously and grabs Al quickly by the arm, leading him out the door.

The door locks into its groove, and silence permeates the air, leaving the couple of childhood friends uncertain of what to do.

Edward trots to the sofa, inelegantly drops his body on it, springing the cushion out of its frame. Winry follows, taking a seat at the opposite end, leaning her back on the arm rest so that she can easily glimpse at Edward. She feels as if her lungs have collapsed on her, breathing raggedly from the teasing, and she glances at Edward for a quick second and notices a similar breathing pattern on him, nervous all the same.

He peeks at her, but not before taking note of the change since the last time he had seen her. He notices how her flaxen hair has turned just _slightly_ darker with age, and he remarks the additional piercings to accomodate for the silver earrings he and Al gave her for her birthday a few years ago. He also observes how she has lost a little bit of weight from the way her cheekbones protrude, but she’s still as stunning as ever and it’s forcing his heart to tap dance loudly in his ears.

He remembers what her sisters had said when he had seen them back home, and their words have been living cozily in his head since: _you just want to see Winry, you loooove Winry!_ His face turns beet red at the thought and he quickly looks away, sweat forming along his hairline. He clutches his pants and can feel the sweat rub off on the garment. Edward knows there’s truth in the words they said, and he’s quickly reminded of his _other_ intention for this visit. He wills himself to calm down, but he feels like a lovestruck high school teenager all over again, and he finds himself reciting the periodic table under his breath as quietly as possible to sway his mind from the subject at hand, “Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium... Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen…”

Winry looks at him curiously, and she can’t help but smile as he squirms in his seat, looking like he's trying to burrow himself in the sofa. She feels her tense muscle loosening and her nervousness cease as she studies his comical expression. She can't stifle the laugh that threatens to burst out of her mouth, and she confronts her childhood friend for his ridiculous behavior, “Ed! What are you doing?”

He stammers a quick reply, “Oh- uh nothing?”

She shakes her head, chuckling, “Wow, you really haven't changed.”

He squints his eyes at her, “What do you mean?”

“I heard you recite the periodic table, you nerd!” She laughs without restraints, holding onto her stomach as she sees his change of expression.

He retorts fervidly, “What?! I'm not a nerd!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Well, you're a gearhead! Always have been!”

“That's not true!”

“Of course it is! You were always hanging out at your parents’ shop.”

“...Okay, I guess that’s true...” she laughs heartily as she recalls the memory, remembering how Ed and Al would always find her hiding in the nooks and crannies of her parents’ auto shop, making a playground out of the machinery and equipment. Ed laughs along with her, pointing his index finger at her as he proves his point.

She quips back, “Remember how you and Al would spar and you would always lose?”

Ed scoffs, “Yeah, but only because Al was taller than me back then...”

“And I would say that you need to drink more milk...”

He turns to look at Winry and counters her insult, “I still don’t like it, but I got taller anyway!”

“I remember you would take the milk and chuck it into the river...” her body shakes as she giggles, and she imitates a throwing motion clumsily, mimicking how Ed would have chucked it as a kid along with a silly face.

He shakes his head at the memory of his childish demeanor, “And Al would yell at me for doing that…”

Winry lifts her hands in a surrender pose, “Bless Al and his heart. At least he tried to keep you in line...”

“Hey!” He calls her out, but he can't help himself but guffaw, body jerking wildly from the laughter. He looks at Winry and sees her clutch her stomach, crying happy tears from the amusement.

She comes down from her glee and Ed follows soon after, their heart rates slowly coming to a steady. She scoots closer to him until they are only inches apart, and she gazes at him with fondness.

For as long as she can remember, the three of them have always been together, rarely leaving each other’s sides. They would huddle after school under the large, oak tree in front of Pinako’s house, planning and executing mischiefs one day and reading and taking naps on the wet, green grass another day. It had been a different time then, a simpler and carefree time where they didn’t have to worry about anything but themselves, before the complications of being a grown up came around.

Winry studies the figure in front of her, and she realizes that the boy in her memory has grown into a man right before her eyes. His braided ponytail is still the same as ever, but his facial structure has matured in the way that his jawline has sharpened and how his golden eyes exude confidence and tenacity. He is also much taller than the last time she had seen him. The edge of her lips pulls itself into a smile, and she looks at him with admiration, urging her to speak what’s on her mind, “You’ve grown up, Ed. You’ve figured out what you want to do with your life. I’m really happy for you.”

Edward detects the change in atmosphere, whimsical tone has left the room and everything about her speech carries significance in how she perceives him. He’s enveloped in contentment at the knowledge, admitting to himself that she has played an important role in his aspirations and growth, and he confides in her with a small smile, “You helped me get there, Winry. Without you I wouldn't be able to do it.”

“...I did?” her eyebrows furrow, and she looks at him, confused.

“Remember after my mother’s death? I really lost my sense of direction... I was such a crybaby and I couldn’t bring myself out of my misery... but you checked up on me everyday, and you told me that I would never be alone because you will always be there... You may not know it Winry, but I held onto those words to get me through the first couple of years.”

“Ed...”

“So, thank you, Winry, for always being there for me…” He smiles fondly.

“I'm glad I could help.” She returns his smile, pleased to know that he’s not the only one to have an influence in their lives. She gingerly takes his hand and blankets it with hers, caressing the back of his hand gently, and she gazes at him with adoration.

Edward is shocked by her affectionate gestures. It is something she doesn't always display when they were younger, and it is making his heart thump with joy. He has the sudden urge to embrace her, showering her with love and showing her much he cares, and he decides that it’s time he becomes honest with his feelings.

He opens his arms and reaches for the blonde woman, pulling her into an hug, and he tightens his arms around her protectively. Winry returns his embrace willingly, but not before she notes how the gesture feels different from earlier; it feels much more intimate. Her suspicion is confirmed as he places a soft kiss on her hair, prompting Winry’s heart to race a mile a second.

Ed sighs as he gathers courage, mumbling quietly as he rests his cheek on her head, “Winry… I care about you… And you’ve taken care of me throughout my life. Will you… let me take care of you?”

Winry is stunned by his confession, the sensation in her stomach is fluttering in wonderful ways, and she ponders whether his words mean what she thinks they mean. As happy as she is that their feelings are mutual, her happiness is short lived. She’s quickly snapped back into reality as she replays the event from that particular night. She remembers Russell, and she remembers what he had done to her. And she thinks about Edward and how he is still in the dark about her circumstance. She senses an impending doom loom over her, constricting her chest in waves of great discomfort that she feels like it's impossible to breathe. An intrusive thought invades her, like worm slithering itself into her brain, and it echoes in her head: _Edward wouldn't want you after you tell him_. She becomes overwhelmed with anxiety, and she panics, her whole body trembling. She starts to lose the feeling on her arms and it spreads quickly throughout her body. Her breathing is becoming erratic, and she feels drops of sweat trickle from her temple.

Her affliction is familiar and has been a constant companion since that incident. She has to ride it out, fifteen to twenty minutes of cowering in the corner of her room until the sensation dissipates, or she can always force herself to sleep, that works, too, some of the time. But this time someone is there to bear witness to her frenzy. _Edward_ is there. And there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to lull herself to sleep, and on top of that, she has to worry about revealing her woe to him sooner than later and she's dreading this fact.

Ed feels the wavering of her body, and reluctantly releases his grip, afraid that he may have said something to hurt her, “Winry, are you… okay? Was it something… I said?”

Ed stares at her with concern, carefully watching how her body heaves uncontrollably as though she’s sprinted across town. She knows Ed will ask. She’s known him long enough to understand that his persistency never wavers, so Winry gathers courage, deciding that it's as good time as any to confess to him about that dreadful night, “Ed, I… I need to tell you something… but please promise me you won’t get mad…”

“Winry, are you alright?”

“Ed, promise me!”

“I… promise...”

She swallows thickly and wraps her arms around her body, clinging to it as she braces herself for his reaction. A large part of her is fearful of it, especially if it’s like what she imagines it would be. “Something… happened. I… was attacked... And--”

His hearing sharpens as he registers her words, and he interjects rather rudely, “Winry, what do you mean _attacked_?”

“I… someone… attacked me… at a party… and…” She gulps, lips quivering from fear as she relives the terror. She digs her fingernails into her skin, voice trembling with apprehension as she continues, “I was... taken advantage of...”

Edward stares at her in horror as he perceives her speech, concluding that he has understood her correctly. He jerks from his seat as anger courses through his body, fists clenching by his side and teeth gritting loudly. “WHAT?! Who’s the bastard?! _I’ll kill him!_ Tell me who it is, Winry!”

She reaches for the hem of his long-sleeve shirt and grasps it. Her voice still shakes, and yet there’s firmness in her plea, “Ed, please… sit.”

Ed has never felt so infuriated in his life. His taste bud buzzes with bitterness, his veins are ready to explode, and he’s hungry for destruction. There are no words that can describe how much pain he wants to inflict on her perpetrator. He wants to physically hurt this person, make him beg for mercy. But then he looks at Winry and sees how her fragile body stares at him with determination, and he relents. He breathes deeply, expelling loudly through his mouth as he relaxes the clench of his fists, and he slowly takes the seat next to her.

“Sorry, Winry… I just… I lost control.”

“Ed, it’s okay...”

“Winry, did you report what happened?”

“No, I… didn’t and I won’t. I woke up alone and… I don’t remember much, to be honest. I still had my shirt… and pants on… for the most part… I walked out of there with only a bruised temple...” She tucks her long locks behind her ear and shows him the blemish. Ed studies the light reddish mark on the side of her face, and it looks to be healing properly as the color is no longer a deep purple, but he is certain that the bruise had been painful when it was first inflicted on her. She puts pressure on her temple and rubs the skin with her finger, showing him that the area is no longer sensitive to touch. He understands that she doesn’t want to worry him, but seeing her downplay her injury only further infuriates him, setting his body ablaze. Nevertheless, Ed knows that he has to stay calm for Winry’s sake, so he tries his best to relax his tensing muscles.

“Does... Riza know? Does Olivier?”

“No. I haven’t told anyone else… I want to tell them, but everyone’s been so busy… I mean, I will tell them eventually...”

He takes another deep breath, speaking with resoluteness in his tone at the exhale, “Winry... I don’t agree with your decision for not reporting this. _But_ , like I said earlier, I care about you _a lot_ and I want to help as much as I can. Please tell what you want me to do.” He takes her hand and clasps it in his, gently squeezing it.

She finds solace in his ministration, injecting sensation into her numb body, and her visions blur as her eyes start to glisten, touched by the support he so willingly gives, “Ed, I’ve… thought about this a whole lot. Yes, I was scared, and I still am... but I would rather spend my energy on getting better,” she pauses. “And I’m not sure how long it will take to be myself again… That day may never come… But Ed, I also care about you, and that is why…” She sobs, feeling her tears spill down her cheeks, and her voice trembles as she tells him, “You shouldn’t waste your time on me...”

He slides from his seat to kneel in front of her, taking both of her hands and caressing them tenderly in a circular motion with his thumb. He looks up at her, gazing into her blue eyes, and he reiterates firmly, “Winry, I will stay with you until you get better. As long as it takes.”

“Ed… I can’t ask you to do that…”

He squeezes her hands, begging on his knees “Winry, I love you _too much_ to leave you alone, so please let me...”

Winry’s taken aback by his confession, and her heart stops in its track, stilling her entire body in place, calming her breathing unexpectedly. His action and his words invigorate her, giving her a sense of hope for the first time since it happened. She can’t contain the happiness that fills within her, enveloping her in such comforting heat she feels like she has been reborn. She stares at him, her lips reflexively pull into a smile as she discerns the warmth in his eyes, and she squeezes his hands, nodding in approval as she lets the last teardrop leave her eyes.

 

* * *

 

**Variety Building Cafeteria, Lunch Time**

The clacking of keyboard surrounds her, fingers moving rapidly like she’s playing the most complicated sonata. She darts her eyes left to right, repetitively across her laptop screen, and she smiles as she reaches the end of page twenty. Today’s a good day.

Her stomach grumbles loudly, emitting an unattractive noise, and she takes a quick glance at the uneaten sandwich sitting on the table, noticing how the cheese has hardened from the cold temperature of the room; it looks unappetizing. Nevertheless, she has been happy that she was able to write as much as she could in such a short time, and no amount of hunger can replace the feeling.

“Is this seat taken?”

She looks up instantly, surprised to hear this particular male voice, but she gives him a small smile, nodding in approval. The dark haired man lowers his tray onto the table slowly, and she can smell a waft of roast beef, intensifying her hunger. Perhaps she should eat her sandwich, especially now that she has company.

He pulls out the chair next to her, the screeching sound of its legs fills the quiet cafeteria, and she can sense several heads turn to look. She notices in her periphery, however, that some of the prying eyes remain and are joined by murmuring noises. Her boss never fails to catch the female (and male) attention in the office as Rebecca has warned her multiple times, and a part of her becomes slightly nervous as she contemplates her decision to let him join her. She can hear the whispers get louder and become more plentiful, and Riza knows now that gossip about her and Roy Mustang is abound, and she is immediately remorseful of her quick acceptance. The last thing she wants is for some stranger to come and interrogate her about her love life, and the thought quickly squelches her hunger.

He turns his head to face her, and he unwraps the sandwich in his hand, casually starting a conversation, “I want to say thanks for the recommendation. My sister said she's been wanting to read that for a while.”

She throws him a small smile, “Ah so I did help you after all.”

“You did,” he smiles handsomely, prompting Riza’s heart to flutter without warning. He takes a glance at her laptop, noticing the bright, white screen filled with black text, and his sight lingers there for a moment. She jolts in her seat as she notices the direction of his eyes and quickly closes her laptop, pushing it aside and away from him. She studies the small distance between their seats, and she mentally kicks herself as she realizes, without a doubt, that he read some of her manuscript.

He quickly apologizes as he discerns her reaction, “Sorry, I didn't mean to pry...”

“No, you’re fine. I was just… writing...” There’s no point in lying now.

“Writing?”

She sighs in defeat. She has expected the question to come sooner than later.

She replies hesitantly, “Well... it’s sort of a hobby of mine. Writing, that is...”

She isn’t sure how much of her aspiration she should share. He is, after all, the person who decides her employment, and she doesn’t want him to think that she doesn’t take her job seriously. In addition, she really has no business telling him about her dreams, her silly childhood ambitions. She tries to recall the last time she told anyone about her writing, and it baffles her that no one really enters her mind. The only person who knows about it is Winry, and she has only found out because she has been a curious child, going into her room without permission and accidentally reading some of her juvenile work. Olivier _might_ know, considering how Riza had minored in creative writing back in university and how her sister is observant enough to put two and two together… But a part of her doubts that. She is actually _quite certain_ that no one else knows, and she finds it unbelievable that he would be the second person to discover it.

“Ah.” He puts his sandwich down on his plate. “For some reason that sounds like something you would do, especially after our multiple run-ins at the bookstore,” he acknowledges. “Can I ask what you’re writing about?”

She stares at him and purses her lips, unsure if she should divulge this information, becoming slightly embarrassed as she ponders over her storyline. She doesn't anticipate him to question her further about it, but she should have known better. He has been curious about her activities, like the instance at the bookstore. Perhaps this is his way of making up for calling her boring: by getting to know her. But she truly wishes that this isn't true, and that he asks purely out of interest.

She reluctantly replies, “I am writing... a romantic, fantasy novel…”

His eyes widen and he pushes his tray away, turning his body around so that he faces her completely, leaning one shoulder against the chair backrest,“Go on.”

She’s surprised at his response, and yet she can’t suppress a small laugh as she contemplates on where to begin her tale. Her story sounds downright ridiculous, and a part of her is ashamed of it, “Okay, but promise not to laugh.”

He smiles endearingly, “I promise.”

She exhales loudly and speaks in a low voice with a suspenseful intonation, “So, the main character is a gunslinger woman... And she teams up with this man who wields magical power. He can control fire.”

“And then?”

“And he studies under her father and they go on an adventure to kill this evil sorcerer… and then they fall in love.” She shakes her head, laughing in disbelief at she tells her story, “I can’t believe I just told you all of that…”

He chuckles lightheartedly, “Why?”

“Because I don’t know. It’s just something so trivial…”

He smiles widely, “It’s not trivial if you enjoy it. Are you thinking about submitting that for publishing?”

She turns her torso toward him, staring at his expression to discern the seriousness of his question. And she realizes that he has asked an honest question by the solemnity of his features. “I haven’t thought that far yet, but maybe one day...”

He counters with a playful lilt, “So tell me, why are you here working as a glorified assistant when you can be pursuing this?”

Riza contemplates the correct answer, but she instantly chastises herself as a commonplace yet truthful answer flies out of her mouth, “Because it makes money.”

He scoffs, “You know that’s a terrible reason.”

She retorts passionately, “Well how about you? Did you always want to be in real estate?”

“Well no, not always, but I know I want to help people and I can do it by being here,” he smirks.

“...by evicting those who can't pay and making the rich even richer?”

“Unfortunately, that is part of the job. But, I have some clout in my current position to propose a few changes here and there to the board…”

“Such as?”

He produces a small smile, but his tone is full of sincerity as he confides in her, “I haven’t told anyone this… well besides my friend Hughes, but I'm putting together a proposal to provide housing for the poor and there’s some tax benefits we can reap also, so we save the company some money.”

She can't help but tease him, “That’s very noble of you. Is that where my overtime is going into?”

“Sadly no, it’s not part of my job description, so I do it on my own free time. Bradley isn't the type that would agree to throwing around money upfront, but I’m going to make sure it comes to fruition one way or another. I want to make sure the poor are also being looked after.”

And that is an answer Riza hasn’t expected. She examines his demeanor, attempting to find a lighthearted joke in the middle of it all, and yet it is nonexistent. He is expressly genuine about his goal, and it is admirable that he can speak it with such confidence. His words stir a warm sensation inside her, churning her stomach wonderfully as she becomes imbued with inspiration. She feels as though she can achieve anything, writing to her maximum potential, and she hopes this light flickers for as long as possible.

He glances at her, “What about you? Have you ever thought about pursuing writing as a career?”

She answers confidently, “I have actually.”

“If I were you, I would really look into that.”

And yet her response is something she is familiar with, one she has told herself privately over and over again. “Except that I can’t just up and leave...”

“I don’t want to preach, but you’re still young and it’s never too late.”

She mulls over his suggestion, and while his words ring true, there are indeed external factors to worry about. There is the financial factor, and this one is always going to haunt her in the back of her mind, although easily dismissable given the right condition. And then there is Olivier. She wonders how Olivier would feel about it. She is, ultimately, the one person who has always challenged her to be better, to make more money, to keep climbing the ladder, and to be someone who will be treated with utmost reverence. Riza knows Olivier has her best interest at heart, and yet she doesn’t understand why it’s been so hard for her to speak freely about her aspiration with her sister.

“How about this?” he inquires as he leans his face towards her. His face is so close that she can differentiate his pupils from his dark irises, and her breath is held in suspense as she anticipates his proposition. “How about we both work toward our goals together? This is very important to me, and I am sure yours is extremely important to you. We make sure we both accomplish it. Deal?”

She stares at him with thin lips, furrowing her eyebrows as her brain actively switches between the different aspects of her situation if she were to accept. She considers the gravity of his offer, and as much as she wants to accept, she needs time to think. Her heart, however, has a mind of its own. She finds herself nod vigorously as she gets lost in her rumination, and she can see his face lights up at her agreement. She isn’t usually one to agree to something so easily, but there is something about his proposal that enlivens her, and it makes her want to dedicate herself to seeing the fruition of their goals. This is possibly the push that she needs to take her ambition to the next level, and she hopes that one day she can look back and thank him for keeping her accountable.

He chuckles and extends his hand to her, “Sounds like a plan. How should we start?”

She stares at his hand and mulls over it one last time. She convinces herself that this is the start of a beneficial partnership, and that it will guide her in the right direction with her life. She smiles widely as she takes his hand, shaking it firmly, and yet she can't help herself but poke fun at his question, “We can start by me reminding you right now to sign those forms I left on your desk this morning so you can be on the boards’ good graces.”

“Ouch.”

She giggles delightfully as she sees his change of expression.

He nods and smiles, “Okay, I’ll sign those right after lunch.” He slides his elbow on the table, leaning closer to her and muttering quietly, “And I'm planning on keeping you accountable by asking you to join me for dinner every week.”

Her heart skips a beat, eyes widening in surprise.

He registers his words along with the shock on her appearance, and he gapes uncharacteristically as he realizes what he has said. He adds, almost like an afterthought, “Um… just so that I can keep track of your progress, that is… and only if you want to...”

Before she can respond, however, she hears a familiar voice yell from behind her.

“Rizaaa!” Riza turns around and sees Rebecca and Jean walking toward her, food trays in their hands.

Roy dips his hand inside his pocket and takes out a piece of paper, slipping it stealthily in her hand. “Ah looks like your friends are here. I will leave you with them. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

Riza eyes his movement as he stands up and carries his tray. His food is left untouched. Too preoccupied in their conversation. She unfolds the paper in her hand, and she sees his cellphone number written neatly with a note that reads, “ _Don’t forget about tomorrow!”_ , and she chuckles to herself.

“What does Mustang want? Is he giving you more work?” Rebecca asks, curiosity lacing her tone.

She turns to face Rebecca and Jean, answering casually with a small smile on her face, “Something like that.”

 

* * *

 

**Armstrong Residence, 9:30PM**

He holds her hand gently, squeezing it lightly every so often, and it never fails to give her comfort. The distance between the elevator and her sisters’ home seems short, and it feels as though they have teleported through the dimly lit hallway as they see apartment 611 several doors down. She slows her pace and he matches hers, both wanting to extend their time together as long as possible before saying goodnight.

“Thanks for walking me home, Ed.”

“Anytime, Winry.” He rubs his thumb on the back of her hand.

She is two doors away from home, and she reluctantly lets go of his hand, already missing the feel of his skin. She chuckles softly, “Now you can get back to Al.”

He smiles, “Al can wait.”

“You know, I've always been envious of your relationship with your brother. You two get along so well... You guys don’t fight often like us...” She halts in her steps as they approach apartment number 611, “Our personalities clash... At least, mine and Olivier’s...”

He turns his body towards her, “Well, Al and I have very different personalities, too, but this whole family thing isn’t all or nothing...” He gently places both hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes, “Remember what I said earlier? I know you can always work on your relationship with them, Winry, because I know that they care about you.”

Her heart warms at his words, and she replies with a hopeful lilt, “I hope you're right, because I really do care about them.”

He pats her head with one hand, stroking her hair gently before placing a soft kiss on her forehead,  “We grew up together and I saw it with my own eyes. They love you. I'm sure of that, Winry.”

She smiles appreciatively, “Thanks, Ed.”

She twists her body towards the door and rummages through her purse for the house key, feeling around blindly for the cold, metal object. She finds it in an instant and inserts it into the keyhole, hearing the clicking sound as the door unlocks. She turns her head around and nods at Ed, eyes burning bright with determination. He nods back. She twists the doorknob, opening the door widely and entering the house where both of her sisters await for her return, silently repeating to herself that today is the day to win them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Next chapter is the halfway point. Please let me know what you think by leaving comments/reviews :).


	8. float together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaand we’re at halfway! This is dedicated to my lovely friend Cheezus who helped me so much with this chapter. Thank you if you’re reading this!! This is by far one of the hardest chapters to write, so I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think :)

**Armstrong Residence, 9:40PM**

She feels chills shoot up her spine, sending a paralyzing sensation from the tip of her toe to the crown of her head, and she freezes in place momentarily. The eeriness is similar to the one she felt when she snuck into the old, abandoned house by the riverbank with Ed and Al when they were children. She never went back into that house.

Winry perceives the cold temperature in the room, attempting to place the blame of her frigid state on the overly functional air conditioner. Nevertheless, she knows she can't fool herself. The reason behind her sense of foreboding derives from the sight of her sister.

She takes in her mien from the distance, breath held in anticipation. Olivier's commanding presence exudes from each and every pore of her porcelain skin, even in the comfort of her own home, and just like that Winry dreads not inviting Edward in so she has an equally irascible temperament to hide behind. There is something amiss about her demeanor, however, and Winry immediately identifies it as the lack of denouncements. This behavior precipitates a million questions in her mind, but she supposes having silence occupy the room in the five minutes of being in the same space as her is an improvement compared to her first day of stepping foot in the apartment.

"Welcome back, Winry," Riza greets her faintly from the kitchen, peeking her head out from in between the opened cabinet doors to glimpse at her. She takes out a rose-patterned teacup, similar to the ones served during English afternoon teas, with three sets of matching saucers already set out on a wooden tray. The water kettle is boiling atop the stove, bubbling to a crescendo until it lets out a derisive hiss, jolting Winry forcefully out of her contemplation. The provoking sound only serves to further wreck her already nervous state, and she badly wants to run back to Ed and Al's apartment.

She takes small steps to the living room, feet dragging on the wooden floor, and she gingerly drops her purse on the round side table as quietly as possible, as if the tiniest noise would wake the vicious beast within. She takes a seat opposite of Olivier on the sofa, shifting her blue eyes rapidly between her and her own fiddling fingers on her lap, beads of sweat forming under her arms. She straightens her back to a proper posture, perhaps a little too proper, and she felt as though she's going to have the most life changing conversation with someone as important as the Dalai Lama. She focuses her attention on Olivier's unreadable expression, and Winry takes a big gulp. Perhaps it would be easier talking to the Dalai Lama...

Winry subconsciously tightens her hand over the other, bracing for some kind of a verbal reprimand. If it doesn't come, then she knows  _something else_ is bound to happen. It always does when Olivier is involved. But she willingly takes the chance and hopes for the best.

"So... how was the business trip? Did anything interesting happen?"

Olivier sits with one leg over her knee, arms crossed by her chest, and she sits dead center with her back spread against the sofa in an aloof manner. Her appearance is as blank as a white piece of paper, and it's setting Winry's heart to pound loudly in her eardrums. She can't gauge her reaction for the life of her and it is unsettling her to the core.

"Fine," Olivier replies flatly.

"Oh... I see…" Winry shrinks at her monosyllabic answer, but she supposes an answer is better than nothing.

The delicate aroma of tea disperses in the air, and Winry hears the clanking of porcelain cups against stainless steel spoons from over her shoulder, followed by an approaching footsteps. She welcomes the interruption in a heartbeat, temporarily relieving her of tension. Riza gingerly lowers herself next to Olivier, placing the drinks carefully on the coffee table, and she fixes her posture until it becomes as stiff as Winry's.

Winry finds herself gathering courage. After all, her purpose tonight is to repair whatever is left of their broken relationship, and the commitment to see it come to fruition is giving her enough push to persevere. She disregards her palpitating heart, "W-what about the case you were working on? Did it get solved? Did you… have to do a really crazy pursuit or anything?"

Her sister answers nonchalantly, her posture remains unmoving, "Nothing like that. It was the same as always. Cases like these don't end in one week."

"Oh, so it's pretty complicated then, huh?" Winry presses on, tightening her folded hand, gradually gripping harder until it feels like she has cut off her blood circulation.

Olivier takes a deep breath, calming her irritation from the bothersome frivolity. But this is her sister, and she promises herself to meet her halfway, even if it means putting up with unnecessary pleasantries, "How was your week?"

She lifts her eyes away from the floor and looks directly at Olivier, astonished that she's trying to converse casually, "My week? It was… good! Did some sightseeing around downtown, Ed took me out to some Instagrammable places to see what all the excitement was about…" Winry squeals in excitement, "Ooh! And Riza and I ate some really good tacos the other day. What was it called, Riza?"

"Guisados," Riza answers meekly, clasping her hands together as if praying for the best. She produces a small smile at Winry.

Unbearable silence occupies the room as Olivier inspects Winry's energetic visage, prying and dissecting what sounded like feigned enthusiasm. She looks at her suspiciously, narrowing her vivid blue eyes into a slit, and she readies an accusatory remark at the edge of her mouth. She opens her mouth, but in a last second attempt she catches herself before anything regretful can be said. Olivier chastises her building impatience while reassembling her reply inwardly, trying her best to sound empathetic, but what comes out clearly doesn't veil her sarcasm well enough, "Well, you're definitely in a better mood today compared to the  _last time_  I saw you."

Riza widens her eyes slightly at Olivier's statement, flicking a furtive glance at her sister. She has been silent, observing their conversation with a stiff shoulder, but even the hint of accusation in Olivier's cadence doesn't bypass her.

Winry deflects her sister's declaration, forcing a half laugh, "What's that supposed to mean? I'm usually in a good mood! Besides, can't a girl miss her sister?"

Riza chimes in quickly, "She's right. I mean, you were gone for a bit, Olivier..."

Winry knows Riza detects her discomfort. Her adopted sister has always been observant, and she appreciates her sudden interjection. But it doesn't stop Olivier from leaning forward, digging her elbows on her knees, eyes squinting at Winry. Winry swallows thickly at her rapid change in behavior. It seems her sister has had enough triviality to pass around.

Olivier inquires imposingly, "I'm glad you're in a good mood, but the last time I saw you, you were  _crying_  your eyes out. Why the sudden change?"

Winry's chest constricts instantaneously, making it difficult for her to breathe, and she feels herself panicking, numbing her entire body gradually as her skin tingles from the unpleasantness. She smiles nervously, shrugging the anxiety off, "Hormones, maybe? Who knows... Besides, you used to get mood swings quite often..." She presses on, raising her brows with curiosity, "Today though, you seem kind of different, too. Did something...  _good_  happen?"

Olivier laces her fingers, sinking half moons into her skin as the feeling of exasperation consumes her. She mentally scolds herself as a reminder to be tolerant of her sister's behavior, and yet her sister really is testing her patience, whether she knows it or not, and it is depleting the last of her restraint. She answers with a slight irritation in her voice, "Perhaps something good happened, but that's a conversation for another time." She stares at Winry and reflexively rises to interrogate her, as though she's one of her convicts, " _You're_  acting suspicious. Is there something  _you'd_  like to share with us, Winry?"

Riza senses imminent danger in her sister's tone and stands immediately, placing a firm hand on Olivier's arm. If there is one thing to learn about Olivier, it is that her no-nonsense candor masks her ability to sympathize. And while Riza has been grateful of her honest disposition when she was younger, what with some aspect of it saving her life and all, she truly wishes her sister can use it sparingly, especially now.

But Winry plows through her sister's interview, looking up at Olivier's towering height and resisting the line of questioning, "Perhaps?" She cocks one brow, tilting her head ever so slightly, but Riza can detect a bite in her lilt, "Why another time? Why not  _now_? Maybe  _you_  have something  _you_  want to share."

Olivier shrugs Riza's hand roughly. She can feel fury emit through her pores, releasing itself into the air, and she knows she can no longer hide her indignance as it shows in the inflection of her voice, "Look, I am trying to understand what's going on with  _you_. Stop throwing the question back at me."

Winry stares pointedly, "What's with the deflection?" She stands up abruptly, pointing her finger rudely at her sister's face, "I'm trying to understand YOU."

"You two, please stop!" Riza stomps her foot in between them, hands actively separating them from devouring each other. She's afraid for them both, and yet she knows how unstoppable Olivier can be once riled up. That venomous tongue of hers certainly won't stay put. And this is exactly how it started two years ago, play by play, and Riza is stuck playing the same role as last time. She thought she has learned a thing or two since then, how to break them up, how to prevent another fight, but in all honesty, she is desperate for an instruction to a remedy.

Olivier scoffs, a sharpness to her answer, "Tch, you would only say shit like that if you're trying to  _hide_  something from me."

Winry has been bracing herself for a snide, and her expectation hits right on the mark. Olivier's retort stabs her right through the heart, stilling her body, hitching her breath. All in all, whatever strategy Winry has employed thus far only seems to snap her sister back into her sharp-tongued self. She is still as stern as ever; same old Olivier. As black and white as a person can be, the living personification of a double-edged sword, and she instantly regrets her optimism at a civil discussion.

Winry's blood boils with rage as she processes her sister's accusation, and she quickly loses her patience, feeling deeply offended. She frowns, throwing both of her hands in the air, feeling the rush of adrenaline in her veins, " _I_  have jackshit to hide? Why are you always assuming shit about  _me_? Quit making me feel like I'm the family fuck-up!"

Olivier's booming voice reverberates in the living room, sounding arrogantly confident, "Because you know I'm right. You ARE hiding something."

"Fuck this. I can't believe I even bothered trying…" Winry mutters under her breath as she stands up to leave the room.

Riza calls Winry's name, attempting to reason with her, but all of her efforts are gone unnoticed as Winry ignores her plea and continues walking.

Olivier shouts at her back, "Winry, where the hell are you going?! Sit down, we're not done talking!"

But Winry ignores her command and swipes her purse from the side table. Her veins are swollen, jaw clenched tightly. At the end of the day, Ed is the only one who understands her predicament, and this idea further exacerbates her animosity toward her sister. If Winry were a violent person, then she is certain she would have already thrown punches at Olivier by now.

Olivier repeats herself without a beat, index finger pointing to the ground, her thundering voice bounces against the wall, "Hey, I said I'm not done talking! Get back here!"

Riza interjects loudly, "Olivier, calm the fuck down!"

"Riza, stay out of this!" Olivier snarls back.

Riza throws her hands up, frustration visible on her face. She grunts away in annoyance, not at her sister, but at her uselessness in the heated situation.

Winry shouts over her shoulder, "Tough shit. I'm not about to sit there and give in to another fight with you. We can try again when you stop being such an assuming asshole!"

Olivier growls back, " _I'm_  the asshole? I'm trying to help you here, and you're just going to run away like you always do?"

And at that jeer Winry slows down to a stop, turning her body halfway, shooting daggers back with her mouth, "Fuck off, Olivier! I didn't run away." She points at her oldest sister bluntly before pointing back at herself, " _You_  left  _me_."

Olivier can no longer control her anger, her entire body engulfed in flame, and she retorts, "I left you? You've gotta be kidding me. I told you to come with us and you refused! Don't put the blame on me when this is on you, Winry!"

"You must be joking…" Winry scoffs and storms toward Olivier, intentionally invading her space, "I was a  _minor_. You're supposed to do what's best for  _me_ , not just decide shit for yourself and then leave me behind!" She stops her face a few inches away from her sister's, breathing heavily to try and contain her outrage. Angry tears well up in her eyes and all tolerance disappears in a poof of smoke. She stares at her sister dead in the eyes while calmly stating, "You're a selfish bitch. At least admit that. If you weren't, mom and dad would still be here."

Riza widens her eyes, looking at her sister with a shocked expression. Being adopted into the Armstrong family was perhaps the best thing that has ever happened to Riza, and she really wishes she could pay them back by walking out of this nightmare with both of their daughters alive. Riza knows she needs to break them up, and so she coaxes Winry with a touch of her hand, moving her away from Olivier's direct shot. She leads her youngest sister to her room at the end of the hallway, but Olivier's disappointed tone infiltrates the air and halts them both in their tracks.

"So you are blaming me for their death…" her voice is low and quiet, opposite of what it has been merely seconds ago.

Winry laughs sarcastically, "Oh you gotta be shitting me…" She takes a step back and starts darting toward her sister, stomping her foot loudly with each step. She drops both of her arms, staring at her sister with a grimace, "Who's mom and dad's number one girl?! It's you!"

Winry drills her sister's eyes for a reaction, for a slap on the face, for  _anything_. She feels a throbbing pressure right behind her eyes as she grits her teeth, and she can sense heat accumulate inside her skull as she heaves heavily. She can feel tears spill over, and she holds her breath before letting out a slow exhale, steadying her trembling voice, "They never could say no to you..."

Olivier stands still, unmoving like a mountain, and she clenches her fists, gazing downcast as she speaks with a firm tone, "I'm sorry about mom and dad's death. I really am. But they couldn't say no to  _me_  because I know what's best for  _us_."

Olivier continues, berating her sharply, "Don't you realize how fucking sheltered you are? They were always protecting you, feeding you bullshit with their words of encouragement. 'You can live happily if you just put your mind to it'. Well, guess what? You  _can't_.

Remember when dad was really sick and we didn't have enough money to pay for his hospital stay? Yeah, exactly. Oh and remember how we had to borrow money from our fucking neighbor to pay for it? How embarrassing was that?

And this is all because they were too happy with their job and too fucking scared to leave that shithole. But I wasn't. I know we can make a better living somewhere else, I know we can live up to our potentials elsewhere, and  _I_  made sure of that." She scoffs, "You're so close-minded. You, and mom and dad are just as stupid as everyone else in that small town."

Riza stares intently at Olivier, disbelief across her face as she perceives her rebuttal. She slowly walks to her seat, gaze fixating on the floor, her palms on her face. Not only did she mock Winry, but she had to bring her parents into the argument. Riza knows this won't sit well with her youngest sister, whose attempt at keeping her parents' business afloat had been her one and only dream. All of a sudden two years ago seemed benign compared to tonight. She sighs in defeat as she digests Olivier's words, the last of her energy sapped out of her in an instant. There is no going back from that. This is the end of the road. All hell has finally broken loose.

Winry wipes her tears away, hands shaking at the swipe, but the anger that has already been released only reaccumulates itself, pooling in the pit of her stomach, ready to erupt at the flick of her tongue. She bores her piercing eyes into her sisters', speaking with a firm and sharp tone, "Yes, blame it on me, blame it on mom and dad. Hell, blame everyone, anyone but yourself! I don't need your half-assed 'sorry, I'm not sorry' bullshit apology, Liv. I'm sick of your shit. I don't know why I thought things would be different. That you would have changed. You're the same frigid, selfish bitch you've always been. I was just an extra weight you couldn't wait to cut off so you could gallop off into your fairytale sunset." She laughs hysterically and shakes her head in disbelief, "I didn't want any of this, yet you still fucking left me behind.  _Alone_. I don't know why I expected anything from you."

Olivier's anger explodes at her sister's insistence, "Well, fuck you, too, Winry! I didn't fucking leave you behind, so don't you put this shit on me. It was  _your_  own fault.  _You_  left yourself behind." Olivier points at her shoulder, pressing her index finger on it and shoving her backwards with the motion.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!" Winry screams hysterically, instinctively shoving Olivier at full strength. She looks like a mad woman, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and stream of tears cascading down her face. She swings her arms wildly at Olivier, banging her frustration on Olivier's chest, landing punches and throwing kicks at her.

Olivier reflexively reaches for Winry's shoulders, trying to grab them while backing away slowly to avoid her aggression. Olivier stares at her with confusion, swiftly catching her hand and gripping it firmly, and she looks at her sister directly in her eyes, "Hey! Winry, what is going-"

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT! I DIDN'T ASK FOR IT TO HAPPEN!" Winry shoves her away roughly, but Olivier tightens her clutch on Winry's wrist, ordering her to relax.

Riza observes her sister's violence and stares at her with shock, uncertain of what to do. Granted what Olivier said is inexcusable, but Riza has never seen her youngest sister react so violently. Something  _did_  happen to her, and it leaves a bitter taste in Riza's mouth as she tries to determine the cause of her frenzy. She springs up abruptly from her seat, worry envelopes her in a suffocating haze of smoke. She approaches Winry with care, and she extends her hand to reach her sister's frantic form.

Her little sister continues to thrash her arms, writhing to get out of Olivier's sturdy grip. She then starts to sob uncontrollably, kicking and screaming until she successfully squirms out of her sister's clasp, "N-no! I…"

But Riza catches her wrist, and she steadies her sister with a firm yet gentle tone, "Winry. Winry, look at me."

Winry continues to sob, fixing her eyes on the floor, unwilling to look up as tears pour down in torrents. Her knees buckle as she lets rage and sorrow consume her, and she wallows in grief. Riza places a gentle hand on Winry's shoulder, and Winry buries her head in the crook of her neck, "Riza… Help me..."

Olivier finds herself stunned as she watches the baffling scene unfold before her, and she approaches Winry with a puzzled expression, "Winry, are you okay?"

Winry whimpers quietly, "You're right... It's my fault…"

"Winry…" Riza grabs her lightly by the shoulder and tilts her chin up to meet her eyes, and she becomes entirely heartbroken as she sees hopelessness in the reflection of her beautiful, blue orbs. Riza's heartbeat is beating rapidly in her chest, but her voice is calm and composed, "Winry, what happened?"

Winry's body is numb as a recollection of that night floods her memory, feeling nothing but dead weight in the hollow shell she occupies. The only thing that has kept her spirits up since the incident has been the goal of mending their broken relationship. The chance to make amends, however, is gone in the blink of an eye. She cannot contain her sadness, and she wails loudly as cry of agony fills the room. Winry feels a light touch on the small of her back, and Winry slowly cranks her head. She sees Olivier. And her oldest sister has a deeply concerned look about her, a look that transcends anything she has ever witnessed, and Winry's heart unexpectedly warms at the image. She gazes at both of her sisters' distraught expression, trembling as she speaks, "I… I was raped."

Olivier and Riza stare at her with horror, both gaping in disbelief. Their hearts cease to beat as they process her words carefully. Winry's revelation has been unanticipated, and it hits them like a ton of bricks, drowning them in an overwhelming mix of emotions. Their sister, the one who always remembers everyone's birthday, the one who always puts others before herself. Their kind, happy, and caring little sister. But the universe is unkind, and it chooses its victims indiscriminately and without remorse.

" _Winry, righty tighty, lefty loosey. Can you remember that?" Olivier suggested, handing her a wrench._

_The little blonde girl took the tool with her short fingers, studying the mechanism closely, and she fitted the hole to grip the bolt, twisting it counter clockwise._

" _Righty tighty, Winry. The other way." Riza chuckled as she watched the pigtailed girl made a circular motion with her wrist, her whole body bending and curving along in the same direction of her arm as she tightened the bolt, her long locks on the side of her face covering her face. She seemed to be struggling, but she giggled when she observed the round steel swivel with a twist._

" _I did it, Livi! Liza!" She turned around enthusiastically, waving the wrench in front of the two girls before giving it back to Olivier._

_Riza clapped enthusiastically, kneeling to pat her head softly at her accomplishment, "Good job, Winry!"_

" _Hey, see, I knew you could do it!" Olivier exclaimed, grinning at her. Winry beamed from joy at the compliment and jumped to hug the both of them, laughter crowding the garage as Olivier lifted her little sister up into the air in celebration._

Riza tightens her hug around Winry's frail body as if any less would make her disappear. Riza's chest rises and falls heavily with every breath, hot tears rolling down her face, tasting salt as they drip onto her lips. Olivier looks upon her little sister's defeated form, and her lips quiver at the sight. Unbidden tears form in her eyes, spilling slowly as she discerns her anguish. She truly wishes she could trade places with her so she can take her pain away, and yet she knows comfort is the only thing she can offer. She places a gentle hand around Winry's back, and she slides her other arm to envelope both of her sisters in an embrace.

" _Mom, please… I want to sleep in the back house with Livi and Riza," the bright blue-eyed girl pleaded._

" _Sorry, Winry, maybe another day. They're not home yet and it's time for you to sleep," her mother explained in a soft voice._

_Winry splayed her legs on the bed, pouting at her mother, and her eyes glistened. Her mother gently tucked her under the blanket, caressing her hair softly before kissing her daughter good night. "Love you, Winry." Her mother flicked the light switch off, closing the door until Winry could hear a click._

_Winry stared at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars that her sisters helped decorate. She couldn't sleep, her eyes remaining wide open. She wanted to stay the night with her sisters, eating popcorn and watching TV until they fall asleep on the small black couch. She started crying at the thought of sleeping alone, and she hugged her stuffed animal dog, Den, and nuzzled her face to it. Her quiet sob filled the room as she weeped herself to sleep._

_Suddenly Winry heard the knob turn, and the door creaked softly. She swiftly covered herself under the blanket, fear looming over her at the thought of the boogie monster that her father said would eat her if she didn't sleep on time. She let out a tiny squeak, and she covered her mouth quickly. Uh-oh._

_The blanket was slowly lifted, pulled down over her head, and Winry braced herself for a scary looking monster as she shut her eyes tightly. But instead she heard a faint whisper._

" _Winry... " Riza nudged her gently by the shoulder._

_Winry opened her eyes and saw her two sisters standing by her bedside, still dressed in their formal attire, looking like two beautiful princesses. Her eyes sparkled at the sight, and she instinctively squealed from happiness._

_Olivier pressed a finger to her lips, signaling to Winry to be quiet, and proceeded to slip an arm underneath. Olivier wrapped Winry in her arms and picked her up from the bed effortlessly, cuddling her small body against hers._

_Winry grinned widely at her sister, sniffing a whiff of her perfume in the air, and she rested her head on her sister's chest. Riza grabbed Den from the bed, handing it to her so the dog could protect her from the monsters in the closet, and she proceeded to tuck a stray lock behind Winry's little ear. Riza and Olivier looked down at her, both snickering and giggling as they carried their little sister towards the back house so they could sleep together._

" _Good night, Livi. Good night, Riza. I love you," Winry whispered, and she closed her eyes as she reveled in her sister's scent for comfort, dreaming of three princesses._

They become attuned to each other's breathing pattern as golden tresses mix together. The heat and sweat of their bodies overlap each other's, and they fall onto the ground inelegantly, wrapped in each other's arms. The sound of cries ricochets in the room as they grieve over their past arguments, fleeting dreams, and the loss of innocence, vulnerability filling the space until they realize that it's never too late to find a home in the wreckage.

_Winry curled up in a ball by the carpeted staircase, rocking back and forth while hugging her shaking body. Moisture was dampening her cheeks, but she didn't care enough to wipe it away from her face. The funeral had been a surreal affair, everything had happened so fast, and it left her unknowing how to move forward._

_She fixated her gaze on the floor, the pitter patter of feet from the living room could be heard in the background, but she ignored it as a flash of her parents' image invaded her mind. Sadness clinged to her heart, its heavy weight pulling it down, collapsing her chest in the process._

_She heard light footsteps approach her, two slim figures dressed in all black, similar to everyone else. They planted their black flats firmly on the ground in front of Winry, and it prompted her to look up. She saw Olivier and Riza, standing side by side. Their eyes were swollen and red, just like hers, and their faces looked dull and sallow. Nevertheless, they produced a smile across their lips._

" _Let's go to the garage," Olivier told her quietly._

_Riza looked at Winry with a tired yet kind expression on her face, her hands hiding behind her back. She airily whispered so that the others couldn't hear, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I've got cookies and cream here." She brought her hands forward to show Winry the ice cream tub._

" _Bu-but… We can't leave everyone here…"_

_Olivier shrugged her off mildly, "Nah, they won't miss us. Those bastards are only here for the food."_

_Riza and Olivier giggled at the joke, nodding at each other in agreement, and their laughter sounded strange and foreign to Winry. After all, none of them had had the chance to sit down and talked ever since their death, too occupied in the funeral and estate planning._

_Olivier chuckled, bending her knees so that she could level her eyes with Winry's, and she smirked, "So, how about it? Let's get away from this sad place."_

_Winry looked at the two with surprise as they confirmed their plan. They were serious about leaving._

_She never thought Olivier would suggest something so uncharacteristic of her. And Riza, too. They usually take everything seriously, rarely breaking rules and seldomly playful, especially during such a ceremonious event like this. But her sisters knew that Winry would often cry herself to sleep, holding onto a photo of their last family trip, bending and creasing it as it became crumpled with each twist and turn of her body. They knew she had taken it the hardest, being the youngest and closest to her parents, while her two sisters had been working and going to school in another city._

_Winry rubbed her tears away, her eyelids burning from the excessive motion, and she nodded for confirmation._

_Riza stated fondly, a small smile on her face, "We're going to eat their favorite dessert, at their favorite place, together."_

_Olivier added in soft tone, "And we can talk and catch up. I'm sure mom and dad would have been happy to see all of us together."_

_Olivier and Riza nodded in agreement and turned around to grin at their sister. They extended their hands, offering them to Winry, a wide smile on both of their faces._

_She hesitantly placed her hands on theirs, but her sisters gripped her hands firmly and pulled her up from the step. Winry let out a small laugh at the surprise, and she looped her arms around her sisters' and closed the gap between their bodies, walking away together from the somber place._

_Winry spoke in a whisper, a genuine smile across her lips as she blinked her last tear away, "Thank you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, please let me know what you think in the comment below :D


	9. to build a home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you WildSilence023, Giiz, sophiabell01, and dvltgr for the lovely comments. You have no idea how much they made me smile :).

**Armstrong Residence, 7:45AM**

Riza lazily twists her head to the right and sees a ray of light peer from in between the darkening curtains, the glaring brightness splits the room in half and slowly expands its width with each passing minute. It's morning. She had wished for it to come in the blink of an eye during the tearful night, but now that it's here, she wishes for the darkness to loom over the sky just a little bit longer so she can rest her heavy-lidded eyes. Last night's event is still vividly ingrained in her head, and she has been restless because of it, befriending Google through the night to research about her sister's situation.

She hears the creaking of bed frame from the opposite end, followed by the groan of a morning stretch. Her sister is awake.

"Good morning," Riza greets with a raspy voice.

"Morning, Riza," Olivier replies hoarsely, her words bouncing off of the ceiling. She sounds like she has lost a little bit of her voice in last night's shouting match.

Riza cranks her head slowly to the left to look at her younger sister, observing the rise and fall of her chest with each shallow breath she takes. She's still sound asleep, even when she's sandwiched in the narrowly sufficient shared spaces of Olivier's king sized bed.

"Winry's still sleeping..."

"Let her. She needs it," Olivier answers.

Riza studies her repose in solitude: her eyes are shut, no hints of stressful creases on her features besides her pressed cheek on the pillow. At least her sister seems to have gotten her much needed rest, softly snoring with her mouth open. Riza surmises that her reconciliation with Olivier has made all the difference. She looks as though she is having the most peaceful slumber, a welcoming lull on her normally sunken appearance, and it provides Riza with a momentary respite.

"What do you think... we could do?" Riza inquires quietly and full of doubt as she listens to Winry's breathing pattern.

"About?"

Riza turns to face the ceiling, sighing softly, hands pulling the shifting blanket up to her chin, "About Winry… You and I agreed that she should stay… And then what?"

It is a deafening silence as Olivier finds herself woolgathering. She blankly stares at the ceiling, mulling over each and every word thrown out during their altercation, and she shudders from regret as she remembers the harsh accusations she lands upon her sister. Winry had been right. She  _did_  leave her little sister behind. She sighs heavily, chest constricting from remorse, gradually suffocating her.

"Hey Riza... Do you think it was right for me to leave Winry behind?"

Riza pauses as she contemplates Olivier's question. She bites her bottom lip, focusing her attention to the imperfection of the ceiling as if speaking towards it, "No, I don't think you left her behind," she answers truthfully, "But, I do think we could have done a better job understanding her situation. We should have visited more often, could have checked up on her more than once a year..."

Silence once again as neither says a word.

Riza exhales slowly through her nose and continues, "But we could go on and on about the past and the regret would never end, so I think we should focus on giving her the support she needs..."

Olivier turns her head to stare at Riza, and Riza stares back at a pair of deep blue eyes that exhibits congeniality. They both smile at each other, and with the most appreciative tone she can muster, Olivier mouths quietly, "Thanks, Riza."

Riza chuckles, grabbing her pillow to hug, "I know how much you care for her, Liv. Even after all these years, you think I don't know that you would call Alphonse every now and then to check up on her?"

Olivier hums as she replies with an amused lilt, propping her body up slightly with her elbow, "Ohhh,  _someone's_  been eavesdropping on my calls… I guess I'm not the only detective around here..."

Riza narrows her eyes at her older sister and her non-existent bedhead, and she replies sarcastically, "Ha ha, very funny. Anything else I should know about? A secret lover?"

Olivier swiftly grabs the yellow stress ball atop her nightstand and aims it at her sister, making faces and shooting her a sardonic smile. Riza has no idea she hits the nail on the head.

Riza catches the ball with one hand, laughing out loud and reflexively covering her mouth to suppress her laughter. She takes a glance at the bedside clock next to her sister, and her heart skips a beat as she remembers  _something_  of importance. "Hey, what do you have planned for today, Olivier?"

Olivier takes a glance at the clock, "I have work in... a couple of hours. You?"

Riza rolls her body away from her sisters, feeling a slight heat creep up her cheeks, and she quietly responds as she slowly buries her face on her pillow, "I have a date today…"

"What? Come again?" Olivier's eyes widen, and she abruptly sits up, leaning forward on her forearms to look at her sister.

"Shh, you'll wake her!" Riza breathily whispers.

"Wait wait, you said you have a date?" Olivier interjects in a whisper. "...Is this guy worth your time?!"

Riza mimics Olivier's posture, springing from the bed ever so slowly and speaking in a quiet tone over her youngest sister's sleeping form in between them, "Well, it's not really a date… I'm just  _accompanying_  my… manager... to a non-work event…" and yet Riza can't stifle a chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand. Blush is slowly creeping up on her face. She clears her throat lightly, donning a serious expression as she switches subject, "Can we talk about something else? There's nothing of substance in this conversation."

"No, no. I want to hear more about this. And you said  _manager_? Aren't there some rules about dating your manager?" Olivier scrunches her forehead, eyebrows furrowing in judgment. But then she remembers Miles and her situation with him, and she silently withdraws her aversion.

"Not if I cancel this date," Riza counters with certainty. She whispers in a tone quieter than before, index finger pointing to Winry, "I don't want her to be alone today…"

"Tch. You are such a heartbreaker," Olivier laughs out loud, and she covers her mouth swiftly as she looks down at Winry's unmoving form.

Winry slowly wakes from her slumber, twisting and stretching under the blanket, and she rubs her eyes open. She looks to her left and then to her right, and she sees both of her sisters chuckling to themselves, amused expression on their faces. "Am I interrupting… something?" Winry asks in confusion.

Riza pats her sister's head with a soft smile, "Good morning, Winry. And no, you didn't miss anything-"

Olivier interjects with a smirk across her face, teasing lilt in her voice, "Actually, we were just talking about Riza's love life."

Winry's jaw hangs loose, her brows are cocked, and her bleary eyes look wide awake. She quickly pulls herself out from under the blanket, sitting up with her legs folded, and she has a comical look of disbelief as she observes Riza's reddening cheeks, "Whoa, this is big... Riza's never liked anyone! She's so damn picky."

Riza interrupts with a correcting tone, "No, that's not true… There was that one guy in college…"

"Who? Claudio? He was after you, not the other way around!" Winry contests sharply.

"Yeah, Riza. Not the other way around," Olivier teases, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"ANYWAY, Olivier shouldn't you get ready? Miles is picking you up in what? An hour?"

"Yes..." Olivier mutters.

"And Winry, we should get ready." Riza flicks her eyes at Olivier, giving her a knowing nod. Olivier nods back.

Winry stares at her older sister. "Wait. Hold on. Get ready for what?"

Riza replies casually, arms crossed over her chest, "Well, I was thinking we can eat out for lunch and then shop for your move-in. And then we'll do some grocery shopping and cook dinner, and Olivier can join us whenever she's done with her shift. How does that sound?" She smiles at her genuinely.

Olivier nods curtly and adds, "I hope you don't mind sharing a room with either me or Riza until we can move into a bigger place. And don't worry about the house back home, I'll have someone take care of it."

Winry shifts her gaze between her sisters, wheels rotating in her still groggy mind as she processes the quick exchange between them, "I… I can move in with you two…?"

"Of course, Winry. We want you to. If you're okay with it, that is." Riza grins at her.

"Winry…" Olivier clears her throat. She stills her sister with an apologetic look, expelling her breath to rid traces of nervousness from her voice, "...I just want to say I'm sorry. I should have been a better sister. But now that you're here, I want you to live with us. And if there's anything else that you need, please-"

Winry's eyes light up as she perceives her sister's genuine request, and she fights back her excitement by biting her bottom lip. Her eyes slightly glisten, and the next thing she does is squeal loudly like when she looks at pictures of cute puppies. She interrupts Olivier's speech by throwing her arms around her, hugging her uncomfortably and shoving her roughly on the bed, "Thank you, Olivier! Thank you so much!"

Winry turns around quickly and stares at Riza with sparkling eyes, and she embraces her other sister in a bone-crunching hug that steers them both toward the edge of the bed, forcing their bodies to topple over the bed and thud loudly on the floor. Winry squeaks a quick apology, and she darts her sight between her two sisters, hearts racing rapidly and cheeks burning hot with delight, "By the way, talking about dinner... Can I invite Ed tonight...? And Al and Mei, too, if they're not busy."

Riza looks at her with curiosity, and she giggles at Winry's sheepish smile, "Of course. Invite them over."

Olivier snickers from the bed, "Did something happen between you and pipsqueak?"

Winry places a hand over her chest, attempting to calm her heart's rapid thrum and unsteady breath as she replays his love confession in her mind. It never fails to make her heart skip a beat. She declares to her sisters with an astonished timbre, "I think... I'm in love with that pipsqueak."

 

* * *

 

**Wilshire Blvd, Downtown Los Angeles, 9:38AM**

"Miles, where are you taking us?" she asks with irritation. She still can't get her sister's startling confession out of her head, and she swears it will muddy her brain the rest of the day. She reminds herself to talk to the on-site psychiatrist when she gets to work. Perhaps she can learn a thing or two about her sister's situation. Winry, however, has insisted that she will be fine. And she  _did_  look happier this morning. It slightly puts Olivier's mind at ease, but she swears to herself she will kill her perpetrator if she ever finds out who he is.

Olivier trails behind her partner, and he halts in his steps so she can catch up to him. His white-colored hair is obstructing his face as the wind blows it wildly against his dark complexion, and he places a gentle hand on the small of her back when she falls into step beside him.

"We're going to sit down and eat some breakfast before we head into work."

"Can't we just get food to-go like usual? It's fucking cold."

"No, I want to have a proper meal with you. We can sit and talk like a normal couple."

"Oh." She pauses at his answer, something she did not expect to hear when she left for work this morning. She curses to herself as her stomach flutters uncontrollably, and she hides her warming cheeks under the high collar trench coat. What she needs is an uneventful day, not another bout of emotions to wreck her body.

They walk into a small cafe, quiet and filled with the aroma of coffee, and Olivier's stomach growls at the display of pastries and pies. She supposes this will be a good time to discuss the million questions she has for her partner.

"Two, please."

Menus in hand, the waitress leads them to a table by the window, and she scampers as quickly as the blink of an eye.

Miles leans his back against the rattan chair, and he stares at Olivier with an affectionate smile. He takes her cold hands, warming them with his, and his passionate amber eyes gaze into her uneasy blue ones, and she feels… agitation? Excitement? ...Lust? But none of these words quite describes the feeling.

He squeezes her hand, and her whole body shudders, the jolt of electricity shocking her from the tip of her finger to the back of her skull. She tries her best to shake off the indescribable feeling with her logical mind. She equates the unfamiliar sensation to the first time she and Riza learned how to shoot. She was only thirteen, and the cold, dangerous object in her hand was exciting her to the core as well as scaring her profusely. But she doesn't want to let it go, she  _didn't_  let it go, and look where it is now; the weapon practically lives in her shoulder holster.

She lingers her gaze on him, and he rubs heat on her hand in return, and there  _it_  goes again without fail. The strange sensation. She can't get used to it. She dissects each pounding heart and dizzying migraine that seem to accompany his touches and his gaze, and she hates how she still hasn't been able to put a name to the feeling.

Her memory jogs to the man she previously dated, and she is absolutely certain Buc did not inflict her with the same ailment. And then she thinks of the ex-convict she once dated with a scar on his face, and while he was an intriguing and handsome man, he too didn't give her this  _thing_  that she's feeling.

The thin hair on her arms rise as she analyzes his gaze on her, and she wonders if he is familiar with her plight and can perhaps ease her mind by naming her predicament on her behalf.

"Olivier, did you tell your sisters about us?"

She's jolted out of her musing. "Oh! No. No, I didn't…"

"So are you suggesting we keep this relationship a secret?"

"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I just haven't had a chance to talk about it. Something else happened last night that required... my full attention..."

"Ah," he picks up the meaning in her words. "How did your conversation go with your sister?"

"Well… the gist of it is we made up as of this morning, and… she's going to live with us," Olivier furnishes a weak smile. She can't tell him what happened to her, not yet anyway.

He smiles back, no hint of probing as their waitress comes by to take their order. Instead, he replies simply, "I'm glad to hear that."

"Miles." She figures now is the best time to change the subject. And she definitely has plenty of things to say to him. She waves off the young waitress, and the poor employee scurries away at Olivier's cold glare.

"Hmm?"

"I checked our enforcement handbook and relationships with partners are allowed, but we will most likely be transferred to work at different sectors if we declare it to human resources. And I was thinking that maybe we should do that after we solve this case. I would  _despise_  to be taken off a case I've worked so damn hard for. And then I'll tell my sisters about us afterwards… and well, I'll let you figure out when you want to tell your wife."

He chuckles at her candid monologue. He's been waiting for it. "She hasn't contacted me since she left."

"Alright... Well, I would feel better if she knows, so the sooner the better."

"I'm submitting divorce papers in a few weeks to give her some time to gets things settled on her end. And I suppose that's also a good time to tell her about us."

She nods curtly.

After working with her for four years, he's pleased to say that he's well acquainted with her modus operandi. He knows the first thing she would check is the handbook and whether their relationship is illegal or not. And then she would plan her course of actions depending on what said handbook states. And then she's going to focus on the external factors, like her family and friends, his wife, and their coworkers. And that is why he has prepared all of his answers to keep her mind at ease. After all, he really does care for her, and a large part of him is ready to do whatever it takes to stay with her.

Olivier resumes her stipulation, "Alright, that sounds fine. And then we shouldn't be visiting each other too often until everything is straightened out."

"Okay."

"And you really should stop treating me so nicely in front of everyone. They're going to suspect something."

"Fine."

"And please stop staring at me like that. It makes me feel…"

"Loved?" he interrupts.

She flinches as her stomach churns uncomfortably. She knows it's not from hunger. She swallows thickly and suddenly panics, losing sensation starting from her hands and spreading to her torso and neck. The gears in her mind click into place, his word nailing the strange sensation she's been struggling to ascertain, and she is  _frightened_. "Is… Is that what this is…?"

"It is for me. Is it not for you?"

She wants to throw up. "I... I mean, I've known you for a while now…"

He laughs at her horrified expression, "Olivier, don't worry. I'm not expecting you to say anything back."

And she honestly can't discern what he's saying to her as the sound becomes muffled in her ears.

"Olivier, are you okay?"

She stammers as the sickness in her gut grows exponentially worse, "I-I'm… fine. Sorry, I'm just… I think I'm just hungry…"

He glances at his watch, "Sorry, we should have ordered first. We're running out of time, so let's just order to-go like usual."

Olivier is uncharacteristically mute as she stares at the man before her.

Miles inquires with a teasing lilt, "Since we didn't get a chance to eat together, let's plan a date. How about on our next day off?"

She gulps nervously as she stumbles for an answer at the tip of her tongue.

 

* * *

 

" _Aww come on, old man. I'm only short a dollar…"_

He flicks a glance at the bickering young man. His blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail, and he is clearly arguing his heart out over what looks like a dozen of red roses. His dark red blazer is hanging loosely over his arm, white dress shirt tucked neatly into his black jeans, and the strong scented cologne he wears pierces into his nose; he looks like he's going out of his way to impress someone. The street vendor tuts his finger at the teenager, carefully inserting the bouquet back into the bucket full of water and carrying it away, and he can see the young man slump in defeat as he watches him leave.

He shifts his attention to the apartment number on the side of the glass doors, taking an earmark of it before looking back at his cellphone for confirmation. It's the correct address. He takes a step toward the flight of stairs leading into the lobby, but he's quickly halted as he feels a rude poke on his arm.

"Hey, hey man. Can you give me any small change you got?"

It's that same young man he observed earlier. "What?"

"I need to get some flowers for this girl and I'm short a dollar. Can you hurry? The vendor is leaving!"

The young man extends his hand shamelessly, fingers summoning for money hurriedly, and Roy gives him a bewildered look, "What are you a shakedown artist?" Nevertheless, he reaches into his jacket pocket without further questions and takes out a dollar bill from his wallet, extending the dollar as the blonde young man snatches it out of his hand without hesitation.

Roy looks down at the shorter man and advises him in a chastising tone, "You should have come more prepared if you're trying to impress your lady."

"Hey, I promise I'll return it to you." And with that the blonde man runs after the flower vendor, leaving a slightly perplexed Roy at the step of the apartment building.

Roy sighs softly as he turns around and climbs up the stairs, bemused over the strange turn of event. First,  _she_  cancelled on him, and secondly he was robbed a dollar by a stranger. He hopes his luck doesn't get any worse as the night grows colder.

 

* * *

 

**Armstrong Residence, 6:36PM**

The dining table is set for six. The cider bottles are deposited on the placemat. The fruit salad and spinach quiche have been plated. The shimmering stew is bubbling loudly in the pot, and the mouthwatering smell is slowly permeating the room. Everything is ready, and Riza sighs in relief as she sprinkles the finishing touches to the apple pie.

She leans her back against the countertop, forearms swiping the bead of sweat from the sweltering heat in the kitchen, and she takes a glimpse at her little sister sitting on the sofa. She seems preoccupied, hands fuddling with the tassel on the throw pillow she hugs, staring into space.

"Winry, are you okay?"

"Huh?" She looks up from her befuddling form. "Oh yeah, yeah. I'm fine..." She rubs her face with her palms.

Riza approaches her sister with a worried gaze, tucking in her short pleated skirt under her thighs before taking a seat next to her. "What are you thinking about?"

"I… I just remembered that I don't have a phone… I just want to make sure Ed knows how to get here..."

"Oh? Did you lose it?"

She stammers, still staring into space, "I… I lost it that day after lunch. I… th-couldn't find my phone… Do you think we can get a new one tomorrow? I-I might need to borrow some money... but I'll find a job as soon as possible and I will pay you back..."

Winry braces herself, shaking the tingling feeling she gets every time her brain recalls his text. She would shudder with disgust each time, at his flashing image in her mind as well as at her own soiled body. On terrible days, she wouldn't be able to feel anything but the hollow shell for a body, as if her body is no longer her own. And that night not only robbed her of her physical body, but also of her confidence. So far it has only continued to break her as each day goes on, and so she tries to revel in the good days, remembering how she has the support of her family and friends.

Winry darts her distant eyes at her sister, and Riza's heart drops at the sight. Riza caresses her sister's cheek softly with her thumb, tucking in her blonde locks behind her ear, "Winry, please don't worry about it. We'll get you a new one tomorrow."

"So-sorry. I feel like I'm always burdening you, Riza… I feel so useless..." Winry shakes ever so slightly.

Riza wraps her arm around her sister's shivering body and gently leans her head on her shoulder, caressing her loose golden strands with affection. She kisses her hair and inquires with a careful lilt when she feels her sister squirm in her hold, "Winry, let me know what I can do to help you."

"Thanks, Riza, but you can just hug me right now..." she chuckles lightly, masking her previously anxious tone.

They sit in silence for a moment, snuggling against each other in a protective embrace, and while Riza discerns her sister's tight grip on her torso as a call for help, Riza reminds herself to give her some space as she recalls what Doctor Knox had advised Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong back then. Nonetheless, she understands her sister's situation is a far cry from her own, and so she adds buying a helpbook as the number one item on her to-do list. It's the least she can do as Winry has repeatedly banned her sisters from dragging her to a doctor.

Winry stares up at her sister, her unique lavender scent filling her nostrils, and in a soothing kind of way it lulls her to sleep, calming her anxiety unexpectedly. Riza has always been there for as long as she can remember, ever since she was a kid. And while her adoption process was the result of a horrifying case of abuse, Winry nevertheless is extremely grateful to have her as a sister.

Hesitation laces her voice, "Hey Riza. Do you still… think about your dad... and what he did?"

Riza pauses, breath hitching at the straightforward question, but she's happy her sister's starting to open up a little bit more. "I do... Sometimes I still dream about him… But it's not as bad as it was before."

"How bad… was it before?"

Even after all these years, it's never been easy for her to talk about it. She recalls the surprisingly lucid memory, feeling a pang of grief, "I think... this was around the time your parents took me in. Whenever I think about my father, I would feel sick, and then the day would get a lot worse... And then I didn't want to see anyone, so I just locked myself in the room..."

Winry realizes she never fully understood the severity of her sister's situation. In her mind, Riza has always looked strong and determined, and she admires her even more as she recites her journey of overcoming the disability, "...How long did that go on for?"

She pauses to think. "For me… maybe over a year, if not a little longer than that… But it's different for everyone."

"And Doctor Knox helped you a lot?"

"Yes, he helped me some, but I couldn't have done it without all of you." Riza smiles at her sister, hugging her tightly as she rests her chin on her sister's head, "Don't be scared, Winry. Things will get better. I have no doubt about that."

Winry's lips curve upward against her sister's chest, and her heart is filled with warmth at her comforting words. She supposes it's time to be a little bit more honest with herself, as hard as it is.

"Riza… Can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't lose my phone… I... threw it away."

"Oh?" Riza wills herself to not jump into conclusion.

As Winry readies her reasoning, the sound of the doorbell interrupts her, and she swallows her words. In a way, it gives her a sense of relief as she understands that whatever explanation she has will precipitate more questions from her sister, and she appreciates the intermission more than she thought she would. "Must be Ed," Winry presumes as she slowly lets go of her grip on her sister.

"I'll get it." Riza stands slowly, walking to the door without a glance through the peephole.

She is surprised to open the door to a raven-haired man, and her previously calm heart leaps at the sight. "R-Roy! What are you doing here?"

She swiftly steps into the hallway, slamming the door behind her with a little bit more strength than necessary. Roy briefly sees a younger blonde girl with a confused look on her face in the sliver of the door just before it closes shut.

He quickly responds, "I hope I'm not intruding..."

She stares at his mesmerizing eyes. "Oh, no. No, you're fine…" She plows through, leaving no room for awkward silences as she feels the thrum of her rapidly beating heart, "I um, I want to apologize for cancelling on you last minute today. Something important came up..."

He chuckles, "Don't worry about it. I enjoyed browsing through the exhibit by myself, eating alone, talking alone. It's all good."

Her face drops at his words, and she readies another apology, but he beats her to the punch. "I'm just kidding. Well, I wish you were there, but there's always next time..." His smile adds fuel to the fire, and her body betrays her as she feels her cheeks turn bright red. She swallows loudly.

Quick, light steps approach and she thanks heaven for the interruption, looking quickly at the incoming sound.

Roy turns his head to the same sound, and the young man from earlier comes into view with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

Edward takes a step back at the surprising sight, index finger rudely pointing at Roy. "It's you again!"

"Um, you two know each other?" Riza quietly asks, shifting her confused gaze between the two men.

"Oh you know him? This kid borrowed a dollar from me," Roy stares at him pointedly.

Edward growls, "Hey, I'm not a kid! I'm a full grown adult!"

Roy smirks, "Sure you are. You're so short..."

Edward snarls back, "Who are you calling shorter than Riza's miniskirt?!"

Riza reflexively pulls down on her skirt, attempting to cover more of her thighs as much as possible.

Roy replies with astonishment, "What? I never said that…" He points his finger at him, looking only slightly down on him. The blonde man in front of him actually isn't as short as Roy claims he is, but Roy had a good inner laugh watching him squirm with irritation. "And if you were an adult, you would have planned your date with a little bit more care next time. When are you going to pay me back that dollar?"

The younger man answers in a mocking tone, "Geez, you're so stingy. It's only a dollar."

"It's money I  _earned_  through hard work."

Riza interrupts, "Okay, calm down you two! Edward, go inside. Winry's in there."

Edward points at Roy inquisitively, "Riza, who is this bitch?"

Roy retorts assertively, pointing to himself with a smug look on his face, "This  _bitch_  is her boss."

Edward's mouth hangs open, and he quickly slaps a hand over his mouth, realizing the implication his jeer could have on Riza's career. He quickly slips behind Riza, mouthing a quick apology to her as he bows his head down and scampers away in between the door. Roy watches him disappear behind the door with a puzzled look.

She sighs, "Sorry about that, but you probably shouldn't have egged him on. He's kind of sensitive about his height."

"That's alright," he chuckles lightly. He slips a hand into his pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to her, "I came to drop this off actually. I ran into a friend who works at a publishing company. She said they're hiring an editor and I thought of you."

She gives him a perplexed look, reading the card in her hand, "Maria Ross?"

He smiles, taking a step towards her, "Yeah, we met at an event once and I supplied her with an article that launched her career. You can say she owes me one."

"Thank you... for thinking of me," she smiles genuinely.

"You're welcome. Don't forget to give her a call."

"Alright..."

He stares at her with a slightly parted mouth as if there is something left to be said, and yet nothing escapes his lips. Riza takes in the sight before her, admiring his casual look that is entirely different than the way he dresses for work. His dark jeans fit snugly around his legs, and his button-down shirt hugs his body in just the right places, accentuating his muscular arms. Riza must have looked dumbfounded, because he instinctively looks down on his shirt as though there was a stain on it.

He looks at her, keeping the scant distance between them, "Anyway, I should go... I don't want to intrude further from your party."

"Oh. Okay…"

Roy turns around reluctantly, slipping his hands inside his pockets and making his way to the elevator. A nagging feeling clings onto her as she watches him leave, and whatever it is is urging her to stop him. She reminds herself that he's her boss, and that she really should let him go. But something else within is wrestling her rationality, forcing her to regurgitate the buried desire, "Roy, wait!"

He stops abruptly and turns around to see Riza jog towards him, "If… If you don't have any dinner plans. You're welcomed to join us..."

His face lights up at the invitation, although he musters all his strength to hide his excitement. "Oh... Are you sure? I really don't want to..."

She cuts him off, smiling, "I'm sure. Oh, and you can meet my sisters."

He considers her offer with a slight hesitancy, afraid of what this could mean for either of them. After all, as friendly as he is to his subordinates, he  _always_ knows when to keep a distance, where to lay the clear boundary between their professional and personal lives. But for some inconceivable reason, he's been reckless with his resolve when it comes to her. Like asking her out to an impromptu date, and actually feeling disappointed when she couldn't go. What the hell is wrong with him?

With her cancellation, he knew he was given a second chance to firm up his resolve, to set their relationship straight as manager and his assistant. Regardless, something inside him betrays him yet again, and here he is dropping off a business card at her apartment when he could have waited until the following week when he would see her at work. His brain is yelling at him to decline, but apparently his voice has a mind on its own as he replies with a delightful smile, "I would love to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please review/comment/kudos, the bad and the good. Anything that would make me a better writer.


	10. fall in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you ssadropout, WildSilence023, LadyAureliana, Lepaud, dvltgr for your lovely comments! They are much appreciated :). This chapter should really be called, "Let's pick on Roy", but fortunately I'm not that cruel. Also, please pardon any grammatical/spelling error, I have no beta, like usual.

**Armstrong Residence, 7:01PM**

_Blam!_

"Ed?" The young woman looks at him curiously.

He grimaces, breathing somewhat erratically with his back leaning against the front door, "Winry, I hope I didn't get your sister fired..."

The flaxen haired woman approaches him, straightening her peach-colored maxi dress. Her brows furrow as she stares at the fidgety blonde man, but she can't stop smiling to herself as he extends the bouquet of red roses in hand, a banality Edward doesn't normally care for unless he's trying to impress someone, unless he's trying to impress her.

She asks hastily, "What happened?"

Out of breath, he calms his racing heart by placing a hand over his chest, and Winry rushes to the kitchen to grab him a drink of water, placing the flowers with care on the kitchen counter. He swigs the drink so quickly Winry can hear the liquid going down his throat as he swallows each gulp. "Well, I just met Riza's boyfriend slash boss, and… I… sort of made fun of him… Oh, fuck my life."

Her bright blue eyes enlarge to the size of the wall clock behind her, and she inadvertently takes his hand to guide him to the sofa. Edward can see sparkle in the corner of her mouth as she grins. As confused as he is with what precipitates her amusement, he is even more flabbergasted by her indiscreet gesture. Her rough mechanic hand fits perfectly into his, and his racing heart is accelerating at such rapid speed that his head is becoming dizzy from the sensation.

She pushes him onto the couch none too gently, and with a grin as wide as her bulging eyes she questions with an impatient lilt, "What's he like? Riza won't talk about him!"

He stammers as he thinks hard on how to describe him, "Uhh… he's… got dark hair and dark eyes… and kind of an asshole?"

Winry tilts her head slightly, "I mean, I caught a glimpse of his face before Riza shuts the door. He seems pretty handsome. Quite tall too from the looks of it. Why is he an asshole?"

Ed stares at her with a pained expression, as if he has just been stabbed in the stomach by a dagger. He grits his teeth and chooses to ignore her inquiry, focusing instead on the one thing that bothers him to no end, "You prefer tall men... Winry?"

Winry tilts her head up in contemplation with her index finger on her lips, taking no note of the meaning behind his question, and she casually expresses her thoughts, "I mean, tall is nice…? Riza and Olivier are tall."

"Ahh… okay…" He slumps down on the sofa, the excitement he carries with him dissipates in an instant, and the feeling of disappointment wraps around his body, putting him in a choke hold.

He thinks back to his childhood. He should have drunk all the milk he had his hands on. Al had been right, and that's why he's much taller than Ed even though he's the younger brother. He counts the number of days to his next birthday, and he hangs onto the fact that his teenage year will soon be ending, which means he barely has enough time to grow an inch taller. He starts thinking about the science of genetics, getting into the nitty gritty concept of DNA and survival of the fittest, and he sighs in defeat. Perhaps some people just aren't meant to be that tall. He conjures up an image of Roy waltzing Winry away, heckling him and his height, laughing as he leads the young woman away by the small of her back.

"Ed, are you… okay?"

"Winry… I promise I will be even taller than I am now… I have time."

She furrows her brow, looking at him with a nonplussed expression, "All this time you were worried about your height? Ed, are you jealous of his height?"

"N-no!" His denial is comparable to hiding an elephant behind a flag pole.

She processes his rebuttal and laughs out loud as she realizes his concern, "Oh my god… You can be such a dork sometimes..."

He turns away from her gaze, muttering under his breath, "Well you told me when we were kids that I was too short for you…"

"Ed…" She rests her hands on her knees, bending down to look at him. The smile on her face blatantly shows the hilarity she finds in the whole situation, and yet there's fondness to it that makes his heart skip a beat. She giggles lightly, poking him by the tip of his nose, "I like you just the way you are. Besides… you are still taller than me, even if it's only by an inch." She grins endearingly, and the image of Roy and his towering height shatters in his mind.

He smiles to himself with contentment. Maybe Winry shouldn't have said that. Maybe she shouldn't have been so honest with him. Because his newly found resolve to grow taller and drink more milk crumbles as fast as ice cream melting on a hot summer day, and a part of him doesn't even care anymore of the million other men who are much taller (and more handsome) than he is. But her consolation doesn't only make him feel better, but also flips his stomach into a somersault, and he really  _really_  wants to kiss this woman silly. Nevertheless, he remembers her situation, and he resists from the temptation for fear the physical contact will make her uncomfortable.

His expression turns solemn as he squeezes her hand lightly, "Winry, how are you doing today?"

She gives him a reassuring expression as the corners of her lips tug upward, "I'm doing okay, Ed… I'm going to be living with my sisters here."

Relief washes over him in a wave-like motion, a blanket of comforting heat traveling from the top of his head to the tip of his toe. The feeling is temporary, however, as he thinks of the upcoming semester and the imminence of his leave. He knows she's in good hands, but a large part of him wants to play a role in her life, especially after being apart for so many years. He ruminates over what Al has done, transferring to be closer to Mei, achieving their goals together. And in a heartbeat, Ed knows he would do the same for her sake, passing up on the best-in-class chemistry program at Davis to move closer to the love of his life. He couldn't hide the pain of leaving her, but he understands Winry's self-sacrificing nature like the back of his hand and knows she would rather have him focus on his studies rather than her wellbeing.

"Winry, I have to go back in a few weeks…"

The smile on her face weakens. "I know… Promise to keep in touch this time, okay?"

"Ye-yeah…I'm glad you have your sisters around now… But I'll still visit during my day off. Like I said before, I want to take care of you as much as I can..."

Winry is mute for the duration of his speech, speaking her comprehension of his commitment with only her affectionate stare. She gingerly clasps both of his hands in hers and holds onto them tenderly, allowing their devotion to one another collide by the tingle of their skin and the determination in their eyes. She lets go of his hands just in time as the door creaks open, the figures recognizable as her sister and the dark haired man stepping into the quiet space, oblivious to the silent promises the two teenagers declare to each other.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She glares him down from across the table. He can sense it. He shifts in his seat, propping his back against the back of the chair for a more comfortable position, but instead his posture stiffens as he leans against the wooden splat. He can feel her piercing orbs trail him, watching his every move like a hawk, branding an analyzing expression. He gulps as he tightens his grip of the fork in hand, poking into the thick slices of beef and breaking them apart with ease, simply focusing on the meat instead of eating it. A stream of sweat would have cascaded down his face by now if he isn't used to scrutiny such as this, but luckily for him, his experience dealing with authoritative figures allows him to suppress all traces of anxiety.

The blonde woman drops the utensil in her hand, the sound of stainless steel clinking against porcelain bowl calls Roy to attention, and it breaks the silence that has been occupying the room. He steals a glance at Edward who is uncharacteristically quiet, and Roy presumes that even the foul-mouthed young man is intimidated by her commanding presence. Now the only thing that would benefit him would be to remember what Aunt Chris and his overly doting sisters had advised him to do when meeting a girl's family.

"So Roy, what do you do at Riza's company?" her older sister inquires. The tone of her voice is bone-chilling, as though one wrong answer would send him to a timeout, but he has persevered thus far and another question won't hurt him further.

He looks up at the blonde woman. She may look similar to Riza with her blonde hair and beautiful features, but Roy barely sees the familial resemblance on her face. Maybe if he squints. Maybe. On top of that, her personality is almost polar opposite, nothing but spite and calculating judgment that fly out of her mouth. It makes Roy appreciate Riza that much more.

"Well, I head the joint venture department, which is a mix between legal and marketing type work. And it's been challenging, but Riza has helped tremendously. She is extremely resourceful and a hard worker. I'm sure it runs in the family." He throws Olivier a small smile and wonders if his answer would appease the fearsome officer. Stringing honesty with tactfulness usually goes a long way, at least from his professional experience.

"You're so young and you head a department? Whose ass did you kiss to get that position?"

His eyes widen slightly at her question even if he is no longer appalled by her candor. But Roy quickly learns that compliments do not bode well with this woman.

He notices Riza take a gander at him, and he briefly observes an almost apologetic look in her eyes. Winry and Edward seem to be preoccupied with their bowls of stew, but Roy knows they feel just as uncomfortable as he is. The white haired man sitting next to Olivier stares at him with amusement, a small curving on his lips as he quietly chuckles to himself. At least someone is entertained at his expense.

If Roy is nervous inside, he doesn't show it as he answers in a calm and composed tone, "I don't want to sound overly confident, but I like to think I earned this position through merit."

The blonde woman hums to herself, stating with a nonchalant lilt, "You must make a lot of money if you're in such a high position." Roy laughs off her comment, but Olivier unpredictably beams for the first time since the beginning of dinner, adding an overt remark that seems as surprising as the lighthearted gleam on her face, "At least I know Riza will be taken good care of."

However much her interview has consumed Roy with uneasiness, the suggestive comment she casually spoke off that would normally trigger a break up with a woman unexpectedly pleases him. He is thankful his friend Hughes isn't here to witness his delight, because Roy knows he would never let this moment pass without a mindful jab in tow. He can hear the spiky dark-haired man tease with that irritating high-pitched tone of his,  _"Someone finally reins the horse. Oh what a delightful day!"_  Nevertheless, Roy chuckles to himself unabashedly, and his previously tensing shoulders loosen themselves without effort.

Riza shuffles next to him and flicks a gaze at her sister for the humiliation, and she feels the need need to crawl under the table from embarrassment. She stirs in her chair restlessly, mentally preparing herself to counter, but instead Edward cuts in without warning, entering the conversation with a deriding lilt that should have been seen coming from a mile away, "Damn, you are stingy for someone who makes so much money!"

Everyone turns to look at Edward. Winry returns his snide by shooting him a death glare. "Ed, don't be rude! If Al were here, he would have kicked your ass by now!"

Roy rolls his eyes, sighing as he takes another insult from their brash childhood friend. This time, however, he won't let another mock pass without repercussions. Roy takes a forkful of beef and wittily replies before putting the food in his mouth, "I remember when I was your age. I had to use a booster seat because the dining table is too high."

Ed's face drops, the chewed beef stew falls out of his mouth as he gapes unattractively. He inhales a little too quickly in attempt to get a retort out, but instead he chokes on his spit and sprays remnants of beef on the plate in front of him.

Winry lets out a tense laugh, and she tries to salvage some dignity for his shameful behavior, "Just ignore him, Mister Roy. He can be an idiot, but he doesn't mean it. Right,  _Ed_?" She knees him under the table, hoping he would understand the meaningful gesture.

Ed gives her a questioning look, but he nonetheless retaliates with a passion, "What do you mean I don't mean it? I meant every word I said." He humphs as he crosses his arms across his chest, which prompts Winry to slap the back of his head. Circumstances like tonight often makes her wonder how she's been able to put up with his antics for as long as she has.

Roy replies with a teasing lilt, "Don't worry Winry. I don't take it personally. But I applaud you for being able to grow up with this childhood friend of yours."

"What?! You're not even as tall as you say you are. I measured you!" Edward retorts with an annoyed huff, but Winry kicks his leg roughly and he elicits a loud yelp.

Roy laughs at their interaction, unexpectedly finding the banter a heartwarming scene. As much as the little man makes fun of him, it puts Roy at ease, reminding him of the way his family bickers at the dinner table. He has only been able to see them when time permits, and recently time is not something he has on his hand. His sister's birthday is approaching, and a chance idea pops in his head that perhaps he should take Riza to see his family now that he has met hers. Until he realizes that technically they don't have a relationship outside of their professional one, and he waves off the plan with dismay.

The observing man with red eyes chuckles, his muteness recedes as he finally decides to join the hostile conversation, "Roy, I think you will get on with this family just fine. And I hope Olivier isn't scaring you away. When I first started working with her, she told me if I ever get in her way she would cut me down."

Olivier glares at him, but the amber eyed man merely displays a deliberate smirk. The look in his eyes speaks of fondness, and however sneaky he tries to be, the glances they have exchanged throughout dinner doesn't escape Roy, which leads him to wonder if there is something more beyond their professional relationship. The man named Miles coolly adds, "But under all of this ferocity, Olivier is actually very nice and caring."

"I agree with that," Winry chimes in with a small laugh. Riza, who is sitting across from Winry murmurs her assent.

Olivier's facial appearance stays the same as she perceives her sisters' agreement, her rigid body unflinching, but she can feel warmth envelope her taut muscles that provide her with a blissful sensation, similar to when she takes the first gulp of morning coffee.

Riza rests her spoon on the edge of the bowl as she jumps into the discussion, "Detective Miles hasn't run away and it's been how many years since you started working with my sister?"

Miles replies with an apparent glee, "Four years."

Roy notes with sincerity, "I think being a police officer is a noble profession. Not only are you helping people, but you are also putting your lives on the line. I admire you two for that."

Ed's eyes narrow into a thin line, and he asks Roy with a mocking expression, but the tone that comes out of his mouth reveals a genuine interest, "Are  _you_  doing anything as noble as them in your line of work?"

"Well, no, not exactly…"

Without missing a beat Riza responds on his behalf, clearing the air of all awkward interactions, "His next project is to propose housing for the homeless. It would be very beneficial for the city, and plus it will help reduce crime rate. I think that's pretty noble." She adds with a knowing smile, "Besides, I know he cares about helping the community more than the money it brings him."

He looks at Riza sitting with poise next to him. She steals a glimpse at Roy, and their eyes meet in a split second. She quickly turns her gaze away, shoving a spoonful of potatoes clumsily into her mouth and a tiny speck of the brown sauce splashes above her lips. Roy's mouth opens just slightly as he stares at it, his hand reflexively rises to wipe it off, but she quickly towels the stain before he can embarrass himself.

Winry explicitly springs in to comment, jerking Roy's head towards the young lady, "That sounds like a wonderful project and very admirable, too." She turns to Riza with a grin that sends the pink of her sister's lips to creep over her fair complexion, "Riza, I approve of Mister Roy."

Edward nods nonchalantly, humming in agreement with his childhood friend without looking up from his bowl, "Yeah, you're not as much as an asshole as I thought you were."

 

* * *

 

 

The pale overhead string lights on the rooftop only romanticizes the setting, and she's starting to think how much of a terrible idea it is to remove themselves from the rest of the party. His hands are hidden inside his jeans pockets, black wool cardigan snugly wrapping around his lean torso, and as he props himself against the waist-height metal railings he graces her with a handsome smirk that melts her frigid state.

He chuckles as the cold breeze ruffles his untamed mop of black hair into an even wilder mess, "This is nice, not your normal below freezing winter like in New York."

He displays reminiscing features that intrigue her, and she allows her curiosity to take over. Riza blankets her hands inside her knee-length heavy coat before speaking, "Are you from New York?"

"Yeah, I grew up there with my aunt and sisters. I haven't been back home for a while..."

The thought of home provokes her wistful memory of their quaint, little house up north. The smell of Mrs. Armstrong's warm apple pie and strong scent of black coffee every Sunday morning mixed with a whiff of Mr. Armstrong's mechanic grease and oil from the shop would reel her out of bed. There are days when she wishes she could travel back in time to relive these moments, and Riza wonders if Roy's memory of his home does the same wonders. "Do you miss it?"

He leans his elbows on the railing, gazing into the distance with a melancholy smile that matches the waxing crescent moon, "I do. I miss the snow, too, and it's not something we get here, so I shouldn't have taken it for granted when I was back home."

She speaks with fondness in her cadence, shooting him an insightful smile, "I miss the snow, too. Especially around Christmas."

He twists his body to face her, "You're not from around here either, are you?"

She echoes his posture, leaning one arm on the railing, looking at his absorbing eyes as she replies, "No, I'm not. I'm from the northern part of Oregon. It snows very little, but when it does it's beautiful."

"Would you move back there?"

She scoffs in an almost disbelief timbre at his question, "Hmm, no, I don't think so. Olivier hates the town, and judging by my track record, I seem to follow her wherever she goes."

He lets on a perceptive laugh, "She is definitely  _very_  protective of you."

She nods amicably, but the tone of her voice is correcting, "She is. And she comes across as scary to a lot of people, but she's more caring than she looks."

He laughs playfully, slicking his unkempt hair in an attempt to subdue the mess against the fluttering wind. "I'm sure she is, but she also grilled me pretty hard. I wasn't sure I would come out of there alive."

She plays with the loose strand of her golden locks, smiling sheepishly as she shifts the weight on her knees, "Yeah, sorry about that. She has no filter most of the time."

"If she's a good sister like you said, then I have nothing to worry about."

She simply laughs at his remark, plumping her cheeks adoringly, and the tip of his ears feel hot to the touch. He shifts the tone of the conversation, inquiring with sincere interest as he studies the woman before him, "Riza, does she know about your writing?"

She shakes her head, "I mean, I never told her. She might know about it, but if she does, she hasn't said anything to me."

"Are you going to tell her about it?"

She dusts off his question, "No… not right now..."

He raises his voice with an unbelievable lilt, straightening his posture to stand stiffly, "Does it mean you're not going to give Maria a call about the job?"

She reluctantly replies, "I... will, but I just don't think there's a point in telling anyone just yet. I haven't gotten the job, you know."

He stands by his conviction as he reiterates with a firm intonation, "True. But if you do get it, it will be a good opportunity for you. And it will open up other possibilities for your career in the field."

"Well… it's just… I haven't talked to Olivier about this."

He considers her apprehension. Riza has always come across as persistent, at least from the short amount of time he has spent with her. To see her with so much hesitance precipitates a desire in him to delve into the depth of her reasoning. He ignores the freezing gust of wind that shoots chill up his spine, and instead he speaks to her in a lecturing cadence, "She's your sister though. She should understand. Especially if this is something you are passionate about. You're intelligent and ambitious, and I honestly think you shouldn't be wasting your talent needlessly."

He can see the tremble of her body as clouds momentarily roll by, the brightness of the moon illuminating her into an almost spectral form, "I'm not disagreeing with you, but you've met her and understand how she can be a tad tricky to navigate. I just need to find the right time to talk to her about it…" She smiles sweetly, "And it's not like you've read any of my work, so you can't say I'm talented."

The coldness of the breeze prompts him to move closer to her, seeking body heat to aid his chilling body. He replies to her humorously, "Then maybe you can show me your work next time? And do I need to pick a fight with your sister? Because I would gladly do it if it means you get to do what you want to do."

She giggles endearingly at his earnest speech, the sound that never fails to churn his stomach into a wonderful chaos. He furrows his brows in confusion, "Why are you laughing?"

She sneaks a hand to play with the hem of her coat, "Nothing. It's just funny because when I first met you, you were not what I thought you would be."

He can't help but tease her, "You mean, you didn't expect to see someone so handsome and charming? Surprised that you didn't see another old, greying man like the ones you usually work with in such high position?"

She laughs lightheartedly, "No, I meant that I thought you were kind of a… dick… when I first met you."

He gasps playfully, "Wow, you sure are ruthless tonight."

She takes another loose strand and tucks it behind her ear. The night air is only growing colder by each minute. "I'm sorry. You're not really like that though. You're actually really nice and caring… Even if sometimes I think you're a shameless flirt."

He stares with puzzlement, "You mean those marketing girls?"

She mutters under her breath, looking down on the wooden plank floor, "Yeah… those ogling, makeup-laden, sexy dress wearing marketing girls."

He stares at her smugly just in time as she looks up from her downcast gaze, "I might be overanalyzing, but you sound like you are a little jealous."

She stammers in haste, "I-I'm not! I'm just stating the facts..."

"Of course you are," he smirks.

Riza simply lets her jaw hang loose, uncertain on how to reply. She tightens her black coat around her slender form as a violent rush of biting wind brushes against her cold, bare neck, unclipping her bun and drawing the loose golden strands to curtain her face.

She struggles to clip her hair back into the neatly tucked bun it was before, but in a quick and unforeseen moment she sees a flash of Roy's arm reaching toward her face, gently folding the wildly blown blonde tresses behind her ear and grabbing her wrist with a mild grip. He gazes into her startled eyes, "Let it down, you look more beautiful that way..."

She returns his gaze with an astounded expression, staring idly and still, so amply so that it gives him time to realize his inappropriate gesture. Even with only the stars and obstructed moonlight as the source of light, Riza can discern the paling of his cheeks as he stands unmoving in front of her in apprehension.

Roy ponders if his Aunt Chris would have been disappointed by his eager disposition. He quickly stammers an apology, "So-sorry. I shouldn't have done that." He withdraws his gesture slowly, uncurling his fingers from her delicate hand.

Before he can let go of her completely, she catches his hand without thinking, colliding their heat once again. She steps forward to close their gap, interweaving her fingers with his, and she tilts her face up to gaze into his dark eyes, seeing a yearning in them. She halts in place as her mind screams for her to retract her action, but she stands still like a rock, leaving it to chance to decide for her.

Roy cautiously places a gentle hand on her cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin, and he leans his head forward to reach her supple, pink lips. Time seems to slow down to an agonizing tick as he carefully eliminates their distance inch by inch. Riza merely stares in shock as she feels his warm breath graze her face. She closes her eyes in anticipation of the kiss, but the heavy door behind them slams out of its hinges, the back of the metal door banging loudly against the staircase wall, and Riza instinctively pushes Roy away from her.

"Shit, sorry. Didn't know this door swings so violently," the white-haired detective studies the frame of the door, afraid he might have broken the rooftop entrance. He observes the couple in front of him looking awkwardly at the ground, and he feels uneasy as he realizes he was intruding a private moment. He rubs the back of his head and apologizes profusely, "I'm so sorry for the interruption… I just want to let you guys know that I'm leaving for the night. We have an early shift tomorrow."

Riza abruptly answers, ceasing the discomfiture, "N-no. You didn't interrupt anything. We were just going back down. I think Roy here is leaving, too."

Roy glances at her with a dejected look, but his body language conceals whatever impasse she lays down on him.

Roy approaches the rueful man, holding the exit for him and the seemingly indifferent woman. She doesn't dare look at him, instead she pays attention to her steps as she descends the dark staircase. Roy's heart sinks in disappointment, and he responds to Miles squarely as he follows in step after her, "Right... She's right. I was just leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoy the fluffs before the angst hits in the next few chapters. Please comments/reviews/kudos, because I love you. You can also bug me on my tumblr ruikosakuragi.


	11. look after you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is all about big sister wisdom and some of my favorite OTP hehehe... Also, if you haven't realized, all the places named in this fic are real. And as a proud Angeleno, I would recommend you to visit these attractions/restaurants if you're ever in the area :)

**Armstrong Residence, Several weeks later**

Ugly. Repulsive. Shameful at times, depending on her mood. That's how they look to her, and she is sure others would feel the same if ever granted the chance. Angry welts overrunning each other, stringing together an almost asymmetrical circular pattern from her shoulder blades down to just below the bend of her waist.

Her doctor, adoptive family, and the few who are aware of her history had told her that the scars would go away in time. Every year since then she had been wishing for their saying to come true with each blow of her birthday candles. The third year marked an encouraging moment for her when they lightened in color. But in the fifth year after her adoption was finalized, she finally accepted their permanence, so she stopped praying and instead tried her best to alter her view of the abomination.

Sometimes her optimistic side would compare them to an unconventional tattoo, inked to shape the symbol of philosopher's stone her young self had come across at a local bookstore. And in a twisted kind of way, the multitudes of red hues seem to complement her light complexion, embroidering her back beautifully. But on most of the days, she realizes she's alone in her justification, and it prompts her to fill her closet with the most conservative article of clothing she could grab her hands on. High neck pieces and long-sleeves are her preferred companion.

Winry made a comment once that Riza is "picky" with her men. And while she admits to holding a certain standard, the word "afraid" is probably more suited to best describe her sentiment when it comes to selecting her romantic companion. She has been on a few dates, that much is true, but she has never gone past a fourth or fifth date, where most men had expected to take their relationship the next level: intimacy. She doesn't need confirmation to know that her father's little parting gift would deny her of a sixth date, so she always ends them amicably.

Her back is facing the mirror, the band of her bra cutting across the disfigured skin, and she glides her fingers over the shoulder to feel the grooves of the scab. They don't sting anymore, but they still look painful. What would Roy think if he ever sees them?

She contemplates to a few weeks ago, that day on the rooftop patio. What should not have happened in the first place almost happened, and while a part of her was greatly disappointed, most of her was glad that her sister's partner had interrupted the soon-to-be regretful incident. She has been trying to avoid alone time with her manager ever since, preferring to talk to him in the break area or in the company of another colleague. She has allowed Rebecca to step in for several of Mustang's projects, earning Riza some breathing room from his affectionate gazes. And luckily for her he hasn't questioned her evasion even once, chucking it to the fact that he probably feels just as awkward as her. She gladly announces that they have returned to playing cat and mouse game, similar to the days after her first encounter with him at the bookstore.

"Riza? I need to use the shower!" A muffled sound from the other side of the door shatters her rumination.

"Sorry, I'm coming out!" She quickly puts on her shirt, turning the door knob seconds later and emerging out of the bathroom slightly disheveled.

"You alright there…?" Olivier inquires, creasing her eyebrows intuitively.

"I'm fine. I'm done, you can use it now." She steps out to the hallway, but her sister swiftly grabs her arm with one hand, holding her in place with that knowing look on her face.

"You don't look fine." Her tone is chastising rather than concerned.

Riza knows she can't lie her way through this one, not when she sounds like that. She nips on her bottom lip, breath held in apprehension, and she flicks her eyes to her sister to see an impatient look about her. A reluctant Riza caves in, croaking her answer with an itchy throat, "I was looking at my old scars…"

Her sister's mute for a time, but she implores Riza to continue her admission with her piercing stare.

Riza releases her sister's grip, trudging on slowly to the living room like it was a make or break confession. She gingerly lowers herself onto the sofa, settling at the edge. She twists her body away from her sister while hesitantly grabbing the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to bare her back.

Olivier's expression is still as always, but her eyes widen ever so slightly. She has not seen her marred back since the first time Riza revealed the wounds to her parents; they had looked fresh back then, deep and bright red, as though with simply a twitch of her body blood would ooze out of the lacerations. The cuts have transformed into ridges, and while they don't look as severe as before, Olivier understands why Riza would prefer to keep them hidden.

She entered the police academy with Riza's violent youth in her mind, hanging onto the unleaving portrait of mottled skin and shredded flesh to get her through rigorous training. If she could help prevent even one more case of abusive relationship, she would readily throw her life on the line. She doesn't think Riza know the source of her motivation, not truly anyway, having been an unstoppable preacher of justice and equality since their childhood. But she is certain Riza is aware of her conviction to save lives and that is why her sister has followed her so willingly into different states and back without questions.

Olivier stares at the blemishes in silence, keeping her musings to herself.

"They're hideous…" Riza chuckles significantly, attempting to lighten the air.

Olivier can see the scars contort to the movement of her body as she quivers in the cool air. She replies nonchalantly, "Hmm yeah, they kind of are."

Riza cocks her eyebrows, letting out a sarcastic laugh, "...Were you trying to make me feel better? Because it's working  _great_."

Olivier's timbre is calm and composed, "I'm just being honest. Why would I lie? It sure won't help your situation."

Her sister mutters under her breath, "I suppose…"

"And even if they're ugly, so what?"

Riza unrolls her shirt, covering her torso in a swift motion, and she turns around to face her sister to shoot her a disbelief look. She scoffs blatantly, "Well if they're ugly then I want to make sure no one will ever have to see it!"

Olivier's observant nature is too overly practiced that she can discern the meaning behind her speech with ease. Her sister's posture, the tone of her voice, even the way she directs her gaze culminate into an entirely different interpretation. Olivier concludes her deduction almost matter-of-factly, "So what you are saying is that you're afraid no one will find you attractive after seeing your scars. And it's been a while since I last saw you worry about them, which means a recent occurrence precipitates this line of thinking."

Riza stares at her dumbfoundedly.

"Should I go on? If I have to take a guess, something happened between you and that manager of yours, and that's why I haven't seen or heard you mention him since dinner a few weeks ago…" she pauses, breath hitching for a second before she lets it out in a heavy sigh, "so… did he see  _them_?"

It's terrifying how perceptive she can be, but Riza supposes her detective work only serves to improve this trait. She replies in wonderment, "That's some impressive observations, but not entirely accurate…" Riza sighs, speaking in haste and monotony to curtain her grief, "We were just talking, but then wind blew my hair clip away and he started touching my face, and I grabbed his hand. And what happened next would cross our relationship into the romantic realm. And now that I think about it, it's best that nothing happened between us because I like him enough to feel sad if things don't work out… There. I said it."

Olivier exhales ever so loudly, "You know..." Olivier twirls her finger in a circular motion, outlining the shape on her back as she speaks with a flat cadence to downplay her emotions, "If he runs away after he sees  _them,_ then he doesn't deserve  _you_." She points squarely in her sister's shoulder, thrusting it lightly.

Riza's breath hitches, mouth parting just wide enough to dry her throat as she sucks in air. She unceremoniously coughs into her fist, gradually expelling the burden of her mind with each heave of the body. She clutches onto Olivier's advice, and she smiles to herself as her words fill her with solace, dispelling her debilitating fear of never finding anyone who would take the damaged good that she is. Riza confirms her restored confidence with a playful remark, "Olivier, it's fucking scary how well you can read me!"

Her older sister chuckles lightheartedly, "Can I tell you a secret?"

"...What?"

Olivier shifts on the sofa, straightening her spine as the cushion dips, "It's not entirely my observation. Miles told me that he saw the two of you on the rooftop and said he interrupted a  _private moment_ , which led me to think that something must have happened." She cocks her eyebrows in amusement, unable to stop her prying behavior, "...did he kiss you?"

Riza narrows her eyes pointedly, attempting to mask the embarrassment that slowly crawls on her face, "Of course he didn't! And since when does Miles tell you everything?"

Olivier merely hums in an unreadable tone. "He doesn't tell me  _everything_ …"

"Miles usually keeps to himself, and he doesn't seem like the type that would gossip about some insignificant moment," Riza remarks with an accusatory lilt.

"...No, he's not."

"So then why would he tell you that?"

Olivier remains quiet, but she has a glaring suspicion on her face.

Riza mirrors her sister's pointed look, and with a mocking tone she imitates her deduction skills, "I think something happened between you and that detective partner of yours… Let's see, you two got together and have been trying to hide it from everyone ever since. Maybe you've kissed, maybe you've slept together, but something did happen sometime... How close am I?" Riza's eyes brighten at the end of her speech, and she flaunts a wide grin.

Olivier stares at her sister unamused, but she is entirely surprised by how accurate her blabbering has been. She realizes that it is a good time as any to let both of her sisters in on her secret. They are bound to find out eventually, especially with an upcoming date night just around the corner. She chuckles an apprehensive laugh, uttering throatily, "Yeah… Miles and I are together..."

Riza widens her eyes in disbelief, "Oh?"  _Oh._

 

* * *

 

 

**Westfield Shopping Center, Century City, 4:45PM**

"How about this one…?" Olivier dangles a navy blue ruffle neck dress, displaying it to Winry with uncertainty as she creases the bridge of her nose.

Her younger sister's decided eyes drill into hers, "Do you only wear blue or something?"

"Uh… black?" She lifts a pleated black cocktail dress from the designer rack.

"Black to go with the rest of your blacks and blues? Liv, ever consider a brighter color? It doesn't even have to bright, but how about a different shade from your usual somber closet?"

Winry's eyes twinkle with mischief as she pulls a low-cut, pink dress that end slightly above the knees, a blend of an elegance and flirtatiousness at the same time. But the amount of skin it shows constitutes a barely conservative gown. "I think this will look good on you! You can show off your toned legs!

"It's only a night of wine tasting… I doubt Desmond will care much for-"

She lets out a high-pitched squeal that would normally irritate her sister to no end, "Aww first name basis already? I have almost forgotten his name since you never called him anything other than his last name."

Olivier merely scoffs and looks away.

"And you're right. Maybe he doesn't care because this dress will end up on the floor anyway."

If Olivier's mind has been jogging with anticipation since the beginning of their shopping date, it is now racing with anxiety. She swats her mind's excursion to that dreaded  _(awaited)_  night, and she shrugs her sister off casually with an unadulterated comment, "Maybe you should be buying that. Edward's taking you out to a nice dinner before he leaves, right?"

The gleam on her appearance sinks as quickly the Titanic, and Winry mutters under her breath, "This isn't my style…"

Olivier flicks her calculating eyes to her, "This is  _exactly_  your style. I've seen your closet, Winry."

"Hmm no, not really…" she simply says.

Her expression is collected save for the twitch on her lips. Olivier notices her fiddling hands within her coat jacket, and as she tries her best to dissect the cause of her rapid change of behavior she plucks the dress from her sister's cold hand and tosses it among the hundred others in the rack. "What's wrong?"

"...Huh?" is the only answer she can stammer out of her flustered brain.

"Would you rather hear my whole spiel than tell me straight out what's bothering you?"

Winry remains silent, but uneasiness paints her face.

Olivier lets out an incredulous sigh. She gently grips Winry's delicate arm, leading her out the door and into the breezy fall afternoon. She crosses her arms over her chest, tapping an impatient foot on the immaculate concrete, and deduces loud enough over the patrons' idle chatters but just quietly so so that no one can overhear, "You woke up this morning fidgety-"

Winry interrupts suddenly with a sarcastic lilt, "... like  _you_  don't wake up groggy?"

Her gaze is sharp, and it's cutting into Winry's reticent wall, "This morning wasn't groggy, it wasn't something else. And when we were strolling around, you kept staring into the distance with that spaced out look of yours..."

Winry produces an interruption on the tip of her tongue, but Olivier shushes with a tut of her finger, "No, I'm not done talking. And now it's that dress. That dress has Winry written all over it but you said it's not your style," she narrows her eyes slightly, settling it on her sister's baffled expression, "So let me ask again. What's wrong, Winry?"

Her younger sister surrenders her reservation with the rise of her palms. She guides Olivier to a nearby bench, curling one hand around her strong arm, and Winry closes their scant gap as she seats herself so that Olivier can hear even the quietest of whispers. "I have good days... and I have bad days. Today just so happens to be a bad day for me…" She looks up at her older sister with a genuine look of despair as she coils her slim fingers around herself, "That dress shows too much skin... It's disconcerting…"

Olivier turns her body to face her, giving her a coaxing nod.

When Winry inhales she can distinguish the slight jitters that course through her numb state. And as she exhales her breath with an agonizing delay, she senses terror envelope her in a chokehold. "If I wear something this revealing, it might give people the wrong impression… like-like I'm insinuating  _something_ …" she suspenses her respiration before muttering almost in a whisper, "I don't like how people stare either…"

Olivier's calm expression endures, but her mind screams rage at her revelation. The few months that follow her sister's calamitous circumstance has been anything but easy, and while her road to recovery seems promising on most days, today seems to take her several steps back from where she was merely days ago. Coupled with the fact that Edward's leave is imminent, she wonders if it somehow plays a part in her sister's current fragile state of mind. Olivier has never been top of the class when it comes to the art of consolation, so she regurgitates the closest thing to one in her furious mind, "I will kill…"

Winry jerks her head toward her sister like a deer in headlights. She is sure she has misheard, especially in the drowning combination of shouting kids and thundering footsteps of mall patrons. She hopes she hasn't mumbled  _his_  name in her sleep. "Y-you will k-kill…?"

Olivier's gaze is toward the pristine Spanish tiles on the ground, but she delivers her speech with a confident tone knowing that Winry is listening, "I will kill  _anyone_  who hurts you," she pauses as her sister shudders in fear from the chilling tone of her pledge, "If I don't kill them, then I will throw their sorry ass in jail so they can rot in the eternal pit of sorrow they wish I'd pulled the fucking trigger on them instead."

Detective Miles had joked once that entire precinct called her the Ice Queen. Only now Winry realizes no truer nickname than such, and she can finally sympathize with the shivering reaction of her sister's colleagues. But beyond her biting language and deadly ultimatum, Winry can see warmth and gentleness and care with each utterance of the word. The mask she wears can only conceal so much before her actions and dedications expose the benevolent person that she is.

Winry's brows slope in amusement, and the thought of self-loathing, trepidation, and agitation flee her befuddled mind in an instant, reinforcing her with a semblance of comfort. She chuckles lightly, and she presses a hand over her stomach as it turns into an outward laugh. Olivier merely stares at her bizarre reaction with a gaping mouth, stammering a throaty reply with each gulp of air, "Wh-what's so funny?"

She scoots closer to her sister until their legs touch, snorting as she ceases her laughter. She stares at her sister, who cranks her neck to face the young blond, "You know, Liv... Under all of your ice princess disguise, you're actually really warm and nice and toasty… Like a blanket…"

"What are you on about?"

Winry dons the sincerest smile across her lips, "I love you."

She can see the flushing of her sister's cheeks as she directs her gaze away. If there is something Olivier can't stand, it would be a blatant sentiment. It never fails to make her sister feel awkward, but Winry knows somewhere deep inside her sister appreciates the statement even when her face shows a polarizing reaction.

Olivier merely huffs in annoyance, "...Shut up."

But Winry can see the corner of her lip tugs upward in a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

**Variety Building, 4:30PM**

Riza climbs up the steps to the office lobby with rapid speed, rushing past the vacant security desk and into the wide-open elevator. She chastises herself for forgetting her cellphone in her dingy cubicle, wasting a perfectly good day to curl up with a book and a hot cup of tea. Her breath is erratic as she dashes through the monochromatic space, entering her workspace as her hand scrambles to find her device. She hears a small creaking noise from the corner of the building, and she stops immediately as she listens to the distraction.

She tiptoes toward the sound, and in the close distance she sees the silhouette of a person in one of the empty and dark meeting rooms. The quietness of the building only intensifies as she observes for a telltale sign of breaking and entering. She supposes someone could be working overtime; it isn't strange in such a money-driven field. But she takes note of the sparse parking structure, and how most of her coworkers are still celebrating the remnants of the past holiday weekend, vacationing out of country and taking days off. And if her past experience of catching her ex-director selling vital company information is anything to go by, then whoever is here could be attempting to commit the same act.

She prowls through the row of glass-framed offices, reaching the conference room in as quick as a matter of seconds, and she abruptly opens the door to capture the culprit.

The dark-haired man looks up from his laptop, "...Riza? What are you doing here?"

The one person she has been actively trying to avoid like an infection just happens to be sitting in front of her. And it's the weekend, no one is around, which means she can't rely on Rebecca to hide her infatuated heart from.

She stutters awkwardly, "I'm just here to grab my cellphone. I uh… left it in my cube yesterday... What are  _you_  doing here?"

Her manager smiles endearingly, "I'm working on the proposal. I figured it would be easier to focus when there's nothing to distract me."

She directs a clumsy gaze. The longer she stares at him, the harder it is to want to leave, so she takes the initiative to escape as soon as the situation allows her. She hears rustling from his side, and she quickly states her intention to flee, slipping her phone into her purse. "Okay, I don't want to bother you from your project, so I'm going to take off. Have a good weekend and see you in the office next week."

Except that he's faster than Riza anticipates, and he reaches for her wrist in an instant.

"Wait," Roy begs calmly, gripping her hand.

She reflexively turns around to face him, scolding herself as she meets his fixating eyes, and she wishes he doesn't do anything impulsive. She can't have a repeat of that night on the rooftop, because she knows her heart can't take it. He slowly releases his clutch on her, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"I just want to ask if you've had a chance to talk to Maria. I haven't talked to you since... you know, that night..." Disappointment is clearly visible on his face, but he maintains a casual tone.

She mimics his rigid posture and replies in a firm, professional tone, "Yes, I did speak to Maria."

"And?"

"And yes, it's definitely something I'm interested in," she pauses to watch the delight in his eyes, and she can't help herself but throw a small smile at the inquiring man, "And yes, I might pursue it, but not now. I still have to keep you accountable, right?"

She half expects him to approach, at least from the way his body shifts, but he holds his place and plants both feet firmly on the carpeted floor. He smiles with such genuinity that it slowly melts her determination to dash out of the building. She forces herself to take a step back against the glass door, to steer clear of his riveting gaze before he fully crumbles her resolve, and she is unfortunately successful when he recognizes her hesitation for further conversation. His expression turns into one of pain as he watches her withdraw, and the smile that adorned his face quickly slopes into a frown. He inquires wistfully, "Riza, did I do something to upset you?"

Her appearance is stiff and business-like, but the pupils in her hazel eyes rattle with each hurtful gaze he rains on her, and she abruptly looks away as she croaks a reply, "...No, you didn't do anything."

He persists, reserving his stare only for her, "You know I can tell something has been bothering you," then he states solemnly, "And I think I have an idea what it is..."

She still can't look at him and instead gulps as she feels moisture seeping from her hands. It is as though someone has answered her prayers when she hears the receding steps of his tennis shoes as he returns to his chair, but instead of providing her with a sense of relief Riza wallows her in regret at her action.

He speaks with assurance from the other side of the table, "And I completely agree with you. I don't want to put you in such a difficult situation, so I apologize for the trouble I caused."

She looks at him in confusion, "Wait… what?"

"It's because I'm your direct supervisor, right? You've been avoiding me like plague because it's against company policy...?" His tone is firm, but she can tell the slight uncertainty as he confirms.

She lets out a relieved chuckle, "Honestly? I wasn't even thinking about company policy… at least not when we were talking that night…"

His dark eyes bore into her, "Oh?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you. It is  _very_  important to upheld company policy," she elicits a small laugh but quickly puts on her serious face once again, "but that's not entirely why…"

He shoots her an expecting look.

"I…" She clears her throat as her mind races for the beginning of her tale.

She brainstorms all aspects of her story, searching for ways to explain her abusive adolescent years without turning him away, without forcing a pitiful look on her like most do. But Olivier's words echo in her head, and she acknowledges the truth behind the advice. Baby steps, she reminds herself.

Riza clenches her fists with tenacity, setting her eyes on his lingering figure, and she can feel her heart palpitate as immediate as her first step forward. She knows she can't let her past haunt her forever, so if he wants to run then he can run, but at least she has given it a good fight. There has to be an end to her fear, and she bundles up courage to rid away of that crippling aspect of her life.

She takes another step forward and decides that it's easier to show what he means to her with action rather than words. He stands abruptly, and she carefully closes the scant distance between them. She can see his breath hitch in suspense, holding a telling gasp, and she chuckles in disbelief how much she has come to appreciate him: his support for her aspirations, his encouragement to never settle for less, and even that self-satisfied smirk of his.

She removes the final gap in between them, feeling heat radiate from his stiff body. She prays that her limited experience with romance doesn't deter him away as she gazes into his gentle eyes and cups his cheeks with both hands. She can feel him lean into her touch, delicately blanketing his trembling hand over hers before finally enjoying the closeness of their skin. She tiptoes to match his height and slowly tilts her head forward to get a last look of his widening irises. She closes her eyes, feeling nothing but the pulsing of her mouth as she brushes his soft lips with a chaste kiss. It was quick, lasting no more than a few seconds, and she eventually retracts herself, smiling with the utmost satisfaction from the way her lips curl.

Roy stands there with a stunned expression, his dark orbs staring into her content ones, and for a brief second he is mute as he processes what had transpired. She smiles sweetly and opens her mouth, concocting a phrase that is indiscernible to Roy as sounds are dampened around him. He can feel coldness as her hands withdraw from his cheeks, but the ghost of her fingers only builds a hankering for that wonderful twist in his stomach and his relentless body coaxes his mind to do what it had set out to do weeks ago as he lunges in for an greedy kiss.

He takes her by the storm as he twists his fingers in her blonde tresses, pulling her closer as he presses his aching lips against hers, one hand wandering the skin below the nape of her neck. He can sense her shock by the way her lips remain unmoving, but she soon returns the same hunger as she deepens the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He feels the tightening of his collar as she yanks it lustfully, and he lets his arms travel to her back, gripping her shirt with a thirst.

The temperature in the room rises with each passing second, and as she wraps her impatient arms around his neck he roughly shoves both of their bodies against the office window, generating a loud thud and rippling the thick glass from the force. But the reverberation didn't stop them as both of their bodies are wrapped in blazing heat, completely shutting out the winter chill in the building as they bite on each other's lips, unaware of all other sensations beside the collision of their passion.

They eventually pull away, loosening the embrace only slightly as both gasp for breath, and he can see the reddening of her lips that entices him to explore further. She leans her head against the glass window, caressing his cheek and darting her gaze to study his attractive features. He laughs with such an exhaustive joy as he tucks her tousled locks behind her ear, and he gives her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. She elicits a small laugh in return, inquiring with a delighted tone, "What was that for?"

He chuckles handsomely as he calms his heaving body and racing heart. Whatever disappointment and heartache he had felt prior completely evaporated as he holds her in his arms, and he produces the most endearing look he can muster as he replies, "Nothing... I'm just happy. Can't a man be happy?"

She tangles her fingers in his messy hair, brushing it gently, and she replies in a playful tone, "Shouldn't you be working on your project?"

He responds casually, "No, I'm done for the day. I have to cook dinner for this girl."

Riza cocks her eyebrows, "...Oh?"

He shoots her an attractive smirk, "So… what do you think of Italian food, Riza? Does it float your boat?"

She throws her head back in amusement, giggling delightfully before answering him with a confirming lilt, "Italian food sounds heavenly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Royai finally happened after 11 chapters. I'm so proud of myself.


	12. bomb in a birdcage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much much thanks to WildSilence023, Nuzha, one Guest, blazedancer1997, dvltgr, blue_moon_wolf, Lepaud for the reviews/comments on the last couple chapters! This chapter is for y'all EdWin lovers out there… I hope you enjoy it :)

**EightyTwo, Los Angeles, 11:40PM**

The phlegm is thick in his throat as he watches her pull the trigger on another undead. Her form is straight and surprisingly correct, one deadly eye aiming at the lunging monster. She clicks the blue gun in her hand with absolute precision, and a conceited smirk pulls the corner of her mouth.  _Bam!_  That  _thing_  falls on the ground, blood and bones splattered everywhere, a grisly scene. Who knew she would be so damn good at this.

"Shit Winry, you're scaring me."

The door to another frightening stage opens and a horde of undead jumps at the screen.

"Ed, pay attention!" Her focus is still on the three headed monster sitting atop a pile of human bones. The periphery of his vision lands on a couple of guys sniggering, and immediately he feels blood rush to his face as Winry shoots another demonic looking thing in a smooth gliding motion, totally one upping his meager kill death ratio. At least he has someone to cower behind if a zombie apocalypse ever happens...

He squints at the boxy 90's graphics when a slate colored  _thing_  plunges at the screen and attacks his character, scratching and clawing at it, blood gushing from the edges of the monitor. "Ahhh shit, shit!"

One second later a sad tune emits from the arcade box, followed by a 'Game Over' title on the display as his character succumbs to the jaw of a fugly undead, leaving Winry to repel the incoming zombies by herself, resulting in her character's swift death and a waste of a crisp dollar.

"Geez, thanks for the help, Ed!" The sarcasm is crystal clear in her tone as she furrows her eyebrows in irritation, glaring at the braided haired man. He has never felt more glad that she doesn't have a wrench in her hand. Instead, she roughly chucks the plastic gun back into the holster, wearing the same unamused expression as she grabs the bottle of water planted to her right, taking large gulps of water to calm her flustered figure.

But even as she seethes at his appalling FPS skills, Ed is extremely grateful that her mind is distracted from the thought of his leave, the thought of her  _situation_. He can't help but tug the corners of his mouth into a satisfied smile, forgetting for a moment that they merely have several hours before his flight departs, easily tucking his imminent leave into the recesses of his brain. The idea of reliving his old life seems to have flittered away the longer time he spends with her, but Winry had voiced her finality when he offered to stay for her sake, firmly stating that she would cut loose whatever relations they had if he sacrificed his studies in lieu of her.

"Ice cream?" she casually asks, straightening her crinkling shirt. The fire of excitement from killing zombies has dissipated.

He furtively pats his jacket pocket, feeling for that  _bump_  that never fails to send a shiver up his spine. "You're not tired? It's getting late."

She shakes her head, but he quickly shatters that hopeful glint in her eyes with his reluctance, "Uh… I don't want… Olivier to kill me. I told her I'd take you back by midnight..." In his mind he apologizes for using Olivier as an excuse.

"Damn it Ed, she's not my mom! And this is your last day, I want to make sure we spend every minute possible before you have to leave, even if it means staying up until your flight takes off!"

He chuckles at her insistence, because while neither teenagers are sticklers for obedience, Winry possesses a sense of responsibility that rivals Alphonse's, which means she rarely breaks rules unless she really  _really_  has to. He supposes he should be happy because she makes an exception for him. He lifts his hands up in a surrender pose and flashes her a submissive nod, "Okay okay, ice cream. But that's it and then we should head back, yeah?"  _Because I have something else planned for you._

The chilly winter weather has eclipsed the warmer autumn air, and Ed finds himself careening towards Winry, slipping his cold, trembling hand into her own shivering one, providing her with a terrible reason to combine each other's warmth when she gives him that questioning look. But in all honesty he just wants to hold her hand, and without fail his heart races as skin contacts skin, followed by the wild fluttering of his stomach.

She starts dragging his exhausted body as time ticks closer to midnight. The storefront to the sugary treats materialize in front of them and a wide smile appears on her lips. It's funny to Ed because while he's so sure that Winry's debating whether to get their cookies and cream or plain vanilla, the one and only thing racing through his preoccupied mind is the ability to chase time before everything he has planned falls apart. With one minute to spare they enter the store, ordering just in time as the 'open' sign by the window is flicked off. Winry plants a delightful grin as she licks the sweet savory taste of sea salt caramel.

He looks at her adoringly. "Happy?"

"Happy."

"Ready to go home?"

"No."

"No?" He shoots her a questioning look, sensing the breeze pick up as it ruffles his bangs.

She has that wistful look about her, and he knows the answer to his own question.

"I promise I will keep in touch, Winry," he states reassuringly, slipping a hand in his jeans pocket to take out his phone, reading Winry's new cellphone number aloud on the brightly illuminated screen. "See, I got your new number saved and all."

"I miss the old charm of sending letters. But I suppose this is better, because I have a feeling you would be terrible at writing letters." She smiles smugly and in turn takes out her phone, staring at the screen intently.

The next few seconds knots Edward into a braid of puzzlement as he carefully observes her complacence morph into a wide eyed bewilderment. The blood on her face has been drained in the blink of an eye, the bulging eyeballs, the gaping mouth, and the sudden trembling of her lips paint a disturbed young woman. She looks like she's looking at a ghost, especially at the angle the screen is shining on her face, and his steady heart starts to thump wildly in his chest. He bends his knee so their eyes are leveled, but she only stands there with the same shocked expression, looking like terror has been stamped on her face permanently.

"Winry…? Are you okay?"

She looks up at him, and Edward can see  _fear_ , like a  _dementor_  sucking her soul from above her head. Her face is accompanied by the reddening of cheeks, a single tear in the corner of her somber blue eye. As she blinks, the tear rolls down her face and mucus drips from her nostril, but she quickly snorts it back up, biting her bottom lip to stifle the production of more liquid salt.

Edward isn't sure what went wrong. As far as he's concerned the night has been wonderful, full of fun and heartfelt conversations. He did promise he's going to keep in touch, but it doesn't stop him from going ballistic thinking of the cause of her sudden change of behavior. But his perplexed self knows to comfort her and so he gently places a hand on her rigid shoulder, slowly enveloping her into a hug... Until the phone in her hand clatters noisily onto the ground, prompting Edward to pick up the lit screen in one swift motion.

His steady hand leaves her for a quick second, but as he reads the black text on the screen, he ponders over the idea that perhaps it is this simple text message that upsets her... He darts his inquisitive vision between her lifeless form and the message, reading it over and over again until the gears click into place, concluding his own search for the answer. Shit.

Anger slowly injects itself into his stiff form, his blood simmering to a boil, and the grip he has on the phone tightens as his heart drums rapidly. The black text on white background pops up at him menacingly, taunting him as he rereads each word one last time:  _+503444****: Winry, it's Russell. I'm so sorry. Can we talk?_

His voice is cold and full of assumption, and to a passersby he may look almost vicious, "Winry, is he… was  _Russell_  the one that... hurt  _you_?"

She is silent throughout the episode, and the clench on his teeth is starting to pain his jaw as he awaits her confirmation. But not long after, she flicks him an affirming gaze, and fury is finally unleashed as his blood reaches its boiling point. The metal object in his hand suffers the brunt of his strength as he crumples the sides as easily as a piece of paper. He yells into the distance, earning a terrified look from passersby, "Are you  _fucking_  kidding me?! What the FUCK!" He looks like a maniac, screaming and chastising the sky.

Winry brings her head up from misery, frantically attempting to explain what's going through her fragile mind, "I-I threw my old phone so he can't contact me! I... I don't know how he got my new number… I mean… maybe he asked Paninya. I gave it to her… but… I don't know… I'm not sure..."

She sobs into her palm, and Edward quickly apologizes as he gathers her into his trembling arms. "Winry, I'm so sorry. I wasn't yelling at you…"

Her wheezing breath is deafening in Edward's ears, even in the crowded intersection filled with indiscernible chatters of night owls. His smoldering body hasn't let up, but his rationale scolds him for the uncontainable fury he so easily expressed.

He takes a deep breath and hitches it for a second before expelling his anger bit by bit with a slow exhalation. He  _needs_  to calm down for her sake. He softly tangles his aching fingers in her golden locks, brushing the length of it in a soothing motion. The cadence of his voice is gentle yet slightly shaky, "Winry... I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you... I'm so sorry..."

Winry is still as mute as ever, but her emotions shows through the way she crushes his shirt. She lets the tears in her eyes soak the cotton garment, leaving a puddle of agony on Edward's white button up. It absorbs each weep, each muffled whimper that escapes her mouth. With as much calmness as he can muster, he rests his chin on the crown of her head, croaking what he hopes would ease her suffering, "Winry... you told me you wanted help to forget this asshole, right?"

She merely snorts, followed by a shaky exhalation.

"Tell me what I can do to help, Winry…"

Silent, but he feels the quivering of her body. He knows she's trying hard to collect herself.

"Let's ignore that motherfucker, yeah?"

He holds her a while longer until he feels the shaking stop, the wheezing cease, and the snorting let up. He mumbles in her hair, "Do you want me to kill him, Winry?"

The last question prompts her to look up at him, shoving his shoulder in reflex as she exhibits a surprising gape that rivals those of a koi fish. "N-no… What the hell, Ed…"

Edward chuckles but assures her with a touch of his hand, "Don't worry, I'm not homicidal, but let's not make tonight even more miserable…"  _Because this is not how I picture tonight to end. This is_ not _how I plan to end our date tonight._

"Sorry… I wasn't trying to-"

"No, no. That's not what I mean…" Ed loosens his hug, gently swiping her long bangs from obstructing her eyes. "Are you... okay?"

She stammers a reply, but there's a hint of certainty in her voice as she shakes off the numbness from her body, "Yes... I promised myself I wouldn't let  _that_  get me down… and I've been doing so well, too."

"That's good, Winry. I'm glad..." He contemplates postponing his plan, but as he studies the determination in her eyes and the flicker of strength returning to her cadence, he realizes he should press on. After all, tonight is his last chance unless he's willing to wait another half year before seeing her again.

The romantic picture of colorful paper lanterns hanging overhead and heart-shaped rose petals against wooden plank he laboriously set up are soon forgotten. The champagne submerged in a bucket of ice is probably no longer cold and the bouquet of casablancas are most likely scattered in the violent rooftop wind. The only thing he worries about is her expectant sisters awaiting their return. But those things are quietly tucked in the back of his mind as he considers the brave, unwavering woman before him. He offers his hand to her, thinking how he now has to  _improvise_.

Winry plants her hand on his palm without hesitation. "Ed, where are we going?"

He sets his sight on the nearby park, far away from suspecting glances of random strangers, settling for that less than ideal location in his agitated mind. He guides here there, and his other hand slips into his pocket to reach for his phone. He lets her go momentarily, dawdling his sweaty finger on the gadget, earning that confused expression from Winry. And in as quick as a second, a jazzy tune emits from the mediocre speaker, and nervousness starts to loom over him.

Winry throws him a questioning look, "Norah Jones?"

Ed approaches her as his heart jumps from excitement.  _Say what you've been practicing to say._  "...We never went to prom…"

She tilts her head slightly, "Yeah, but too much happened around that time…"

He interrupts smoothly, "So I'm making it up right now…"

The silly man smiles at her full of affection, and the commotion in her mind and body slowly absconds until the same, sweet smile returns to her face. But she's still entirely confused of what's going on.

He bows to her, extending a hand to her ceremoniously, "Will you honor me with this dance, my lady?"

She throws her head back, eliciting a small laugh with a disbelief expression, but she plays along. She swipes one foot behind the other and bends her knee, mirroring his bow, "As you wish, my lord."

As he gently grips her hand he draws her closer, tenderly taking her other hand and places it over his shoulder, while his other hand travels to her waist. The next thing she knows is that they are dancing in the dead of night, swaying to the melody of 'Come Away With Me' behind the chirping of crickets, swinging under the illuminating full moon.

But Ed is a spastic dance partner. He moves rather wildly, attempting to match his steps to the music, following  _her_  movement when it should have been the other way around. He almost stomps on her foot twice but both times he shoves himself backward to prevent it from happening. She laughs at his clumsiness, and the last of her affliction slowly fades away the further Edward makes a fool out of himself. She supposes this is a part of his charm, and precisely one of the reasons her childhood was even more vibrant that it was.

They remain in a waltzing position halfway through the song, and Ed eventually loosens the grip on her waist in an attempt to twirl her, only to entangle their fingers in an amusing mess. Winry lets out an endearing giggle as she watches Ed's flustered face, becoming even more elated by way of his comical repertoire. The loud rustling of green grass beneath black boots agrees with her as it screams in protest of Edward's trampling, emitting wet soil noise with each awkwardness of a step he calls dancing.

She teases him with a playful lilt, "Ed, you suck at dancing."

"Sheesh Winry, I never learned how to... I just steal glances at Al and Mei when they do it."

Laughter bursts forth from Winry's mouth, and she pulls him by the collar to nuzzle her head in the crook of his neck. Ed can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own as she drowns herself in glee. A smile sneaks into his feature as he perceives the change of her demeanor, and he pulls her tighter into the hug, forgoing the correct waltzing posture for a more intimate one as he cradles her slender form.

The slowing of his steps are far more manageable, and Winry starts to sway to the rhythm of his feet. They stay like this for a while, though it feels like mere seconds, one soothing melody after another. Winry no longer pays attention to what song is playing but instead focuses on the warmth of his body, reveling in his musk, the rapid pounding of his heart under his skin. The beat of her heart starts to match his tempo the longer she loses herself in his embrace.

His phone eventually runs out of songs, like it's timed almost purposely, and Winry senses a stiffness in Edward's posture. She attunes herself to the quickening of his breathing pattern, and it sounds as though he's having an asthma attack as it becomes more ragged. He withdraws his hands from her waist, slipping one into his pocket and letting it linger there. Winry trails his strange gesture with perceptive vision, searching for an answer, finding a conjecture.

What he takes out from the depth of the wool material freezes Winry in her path. In his agitating hand is a worn out velvet box, full of scuffles and specks of dust along the edges, like it's struggled to survive the many years of being in confinement, but she isn't bothered by any of those imperfections. The only thing that occupies her dizzying mind is what treasure will she find within the small, rectangular container.

He carefully opens the box to slowly reveal the inside. And time slows down exponentially, slowing his speech, slowing his movement, slowing the ruffling of his hair in the cold breeze. A glittering gold ring is stuck in between the slit, small diamonds intricately sewed along one side, a simple and clean design that once adorned the ring finger of one Trisha Elric. Edward's mother's wedding ring. Her every movement stops in its track, her breathing, the pounding in her chest, each little twitch of her body.

Edward doesn't get down on one knee but instead stares at her with a loving gaze, piercing through her blue irises and setting her heart alight, blazing her insides with conflagration. Winry can hear the rhythm of her pulse in her ears, accompanied by a wonderful twist in the pit of her stomach, and the tears that had dried up threaten to return.

"Winry…" he begins. She loves the sound of his voice, the depth of the timbre, the tiny inflection, the tone with which he says her name.

He swallows nervously, "Winry, I know we're not exactly in a… conventional relationship, but I want to keep my promise of keeping you safe... to take care of you until you're gray and old..." he stammers as he stares deep into her anticipating eyes. His normally eidetic memory betrays him as his tongue stumbles, too entranced in the face of the beauty before him. He shakes his head rapidly, deciding to drop the speech he thought he had memorized, donning a serious face as he utters a spontaneous monologue, "Winry, if you give me half of your life, I will give you half of mine!"

Her brain is muddled as she processes his speech.  _Is he asking what I think he's asking?_

Before she's able to provide a reply, Edward interjects with a hasty tone, "Wait wait, I give you all of it... All 100% of me…"

Her heart wants to jump for joy, but her mind betrays her. She stands still in silence, a disconcerting quietude to Edward. Winry feels she doesn't deserve him, doesn't deserve the right to drag Edward through the mud with her, not after what had happened. She gazes at the ground as happiness slowly leaves her rigid body, "Ed… After all that happened… Are you sure that you still... want me?" She looks up at him and her eyes are turning red, "I'm damaged."

The scatter of rain only escalates the somber atmosphere into a funereal one. But Ed persist. He knows he loves her, he knows no other woman can take her place, and he knows he can never leave her side. He punches through her grieving wall with his insistence and determination, and he hopes they're enough to convince her.

"Winry… I… I'm not good with words… but I can't imagine growing old with anyone else, nor do I want to… I only want to grow old, if it's with you… I... love you, Winry… I will take you as you are because to me… no matter what happened to you you're still perfect..." His golden orbs glisten with tears, spilling as swiftly as he blinks, and he smiles full of affection and devotion, and he finally crumbles her barrier as he slowly bends down on one knee, "You would make me the happiest man if you marry me."

She's stunned in place, letting silence to overtake momentarily. He has a terrified look on his face as he awaits her answer, and she can see the bobbing of his Adam's apple at the anticipation. But what Ed doesn't know is that every single word, every little gesture, every affectionate gaze he showers her with injects life back into her. She senses an uncontrollable emotion within her, spreading heat from the top of her head to the sole of her feet, returning warmth to her numb fingers, enveloping her in solace. She can feel tears of joy roll down her cheeks, and she tenderly clasps his hand to pull him up, muttering under her breath, "Yes..."

His golden eyes gleams with hope in the darkness. "Ye-yes...?"

She nods, painting a confident smile on her face, repeating once more, "Yes."

Her answer is the most wonderful sound he has ever heard, and Ed can't contain the giddiness as his heart leaps out of his skin. He takes her trembling hand into his clammy one, slipping the jewelry on her ring finger with ease, admiring how the shape and size suits her elegantly. Ed leans forward, resting his forehead on hers, reveling in the bliss for a moment before setting his sight on her pink lips. "Is… Is it okay...?"

She understands the entirety of his question without having to say anything further. She nods once assuringly, lifting her head up to present him with the most heartwarming smile she can paint. He cups her blazing cheek with a gentle hand and suddenly all of his focus is on her beautiful face, glinting eyes, and the hitching of her breath. He inches his lips closer, so close he can almost taste it as heat from her skin radiates against his. Edward finally discovers the meaning of love when they unite their lips in a soft kiss, the molds of their mouths fitting in perfectly, a missing puzzle piece completing the picture of a promising future.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Day, Kidsland, Los Angeles, 11:44AM**

"Izumi, how about this one?"

The stroller in which Olivier rests her hands on looks perfect. Until Izumi glances at the price tag and pouts at her best friend, "Olivier, I ain't as rich as you."

The blonde woman replies casually, "How about I buy it for you?"

Izumi merely chuckles at her ridiculousness, "No, thanks. You can buy me lunch though."

Olivier strides to the back of the store, setting her sight at the clearance items. As she bends down to examine the flimsy stroller her butt bumps into an unexpecting patron. The red haired woman drops the bib in her hand, and Olivier swiftly grabs the item and stands to apologize. "I'm sorry, here you go."

The red haired woman has a slim figure underneath the knee length, rain parka. And as Olivier comes face to face with the woman, the familiarity of her features prompt Olivier to tilt her head in a curious glance.

That curiosity is amiably returned as the young woman studies Olivier's appearance, and she replies with a friendly tone, "Thank you."

Olivier continues to examine her face, noticing her beautiful features against pale complexion, but dismisses her familiarity to the many faces she comes across in her job. She mutters a quick "you're welcome" before turning around to rejoin her friend.

Except the woman seems to recognize her as well, calling out to the blonde woman before she can take another step, "Wait, are you… are you Desmond's partner?"

Her partner's name grabs her attention as quickly as the speed of light. She reluctantly turns her torso, "Um yes... have we met?"

She throws Olivier a small smile, approaching her excitedly, "We met once at the New Year's party that one year. You don't remember? I seem to remember everyone referring to you as the Ice Queen?"

Olivier simply shakes her head, prodding her sluggish, rainy day brain for an image of the woman before her.

The woman presses on, resting a hand on her stomach, "Ah sorry, I don't know why I told you all of that when I should have introduced myself as Desmond's wife. I'm Lilian. I'm not sure if you remember me?"

Olivier's heart skips a beat, and she quickly recalls how Miles hasn't spoken to his wife about them, letting her know how he wants to give Lilian some time and space to collect herself in the midst of their crumbling family. A strange, uneasy sensation envelopes Olivier, and though Miles has reminded her time and again that their relationship is hardly called an affair, Olivier can't help but feel like an uninvited guest in their home, a mistress, a homewrecker, weed in vast green grass, an intruder. She summons a composed tone amongst the chaos within her, "Oh… right. How are you, Lilian?"

"Ahh… Things are good."

"I heard about… you and Miles. I'm sorry to hear."

"It's too bad, really. He's a good guy but he married his career..." But Olivier notices a glint in her hazel eyes, and her lips tug into a half moon, sending Olivier further into a spectrum of unpleasant emotions. Lilian casually adds, "Although I'm willing to work things out between us. Especially now..."

Olivier stands so still she can discern the quickening of her pulse. "Oh…?"

The woman unbuttons her thick jacket, showing a slightly protruding stomach, barely noticeable. She rubs the life underneath her shirt in a gentle, circular motion, staring at it affectionately. "I haven't shared the news with him yet, but I'm actually 14 weeks along. I just found out not too long ago. The stress and everything, I thought the missed period was from that… But turns out, Desmond left me with a little gift before I moved out!"

The excitement in her voice pierces into Olivier's impenetrable wall like a bullet, slowly weakening her body in a devastating wave until it's completely incapacitated. If Olivier were alone, she was sure she would punch the rack behind her, channeling the fury and pain that slowly infuse themselves into her. But she isn't alone, and what's worse is that the woman probably thinks Olivier shares the same excitement for the delightful news.

Olivier stammers a reply, hoping the shock isn't coming through in her tone, "Congratulations, Lilian… Hope things will work out between you two..."

The detective makes a dash to the exit, passing by her shopping best friend, jingling the bell attached to the door handle violently.

Izumi catches her escape in the corner of her eyes, and she calls out to her, confusion lacing her features, "He-hey, Olivier! Wait!"

But Olivier doesn't hear anything as adrenaline courses through her veins, intensified only by the biting wind outside. Her blue eyes are darting wildly, shuffling feet makes a circle in front of the children's store, and for once in her life she feels so unsure, unknowing what to do, uncertain of her next move.

The bell by the door jingles again, and her raven haired friend emerges with a baffled look, "Olivier, what the hell was that?"

Olivier quickly reverts to her usual cold self in the face of her best friend, like muscle memory, building up that impenetrable wall once more. "Nothing… just saw an old friend. That's all."

But Izumi can see the slight quiver of her lips, the wild movement of her eyes, hearing the clicking of her teeth. She knows something significant must have happened, because she very rarely sees her best friend look so doubtful of herself.

 

* * *

 

**Variety Building, 5:30PM**

"Ughh the damn printer is jammed all the time…" she mutters under her breath.

"Aww don't get mad…" She recognizes that deep timbre. It's distinctly his.

She feels strong hands wrap around her from behind and they briefly tighten around her slender torso. That sandalwood aftershave smell is within breathing distance, and a whiff of it entices her to turn around and push him against the wall so she can pepper him with clumsy kisses, replaying the same ministration as last weekend. She can feel his hot breath in the tangles of her hair, and as he sneaks in a furtive peck on her temple she can vividly picture that smirk against her skin.

"You do know we're in the office, right?" but her tone isn't chastising and instead rather playful.

The man removes his embrace from around her and leans his back casually against the printer cabinet, hands in his trouser pockets, looking at her directly in the face. "Sorry, but this is your fault."

"What?"

"I can't resist myself around you."

She throws him a small, unassuming smile, but everything inside her feels like a giggly schoolgirl. From the way her stomach flutters, and the way her heart leaps at his sight, or how her legs would turn to jelly when he shoots her that handsome smirk.

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel his smoldering body heat, and she hears him whisper breathily, "I'm looking forward to our fifth date tonight..."

"Oh my… are you counting?" she teases. But she's been counting, too.

"Hmm maybe." The smug smile on his endearing face makes her want to kiss him so badly.

But she can easily don that perfect composure, because Riza Armstrong is the epitome of a perfect employee. Well,  _almost_  perfect, because she's technically breaking  _one_  company policy. Nevertheless, she continues inserting another page into the document feeder, nonchalantly inquiring under her breath, "Why won't you tell me what you're cooking tonight?"

"It's my mother's recipe, but I think you'll like it."

She inserts another document into the feeder, stealing a quick glance at him, "So... You're cooking Chinese food?"

Roy crosses his arms across his chest, grinning with pride, and he replies quietly, "Perhaps… but I'm not going to say anymore than that, because I want to surprise you."

They hear approaching heels from the distance, and Roy swiftly plants his index finger on his lips, telling the blonde woman to cease all conversation.

Rebecca peers her head into the printer room, "He-ey, sorry to interrupt guys, but big boss wants to see you two in his office..."

Riza turns around to face her friend, raining down an inquisitive look.

The brunette adds, urgency in her tone, "Right NOW."

The walk to Bradley's office is not a leisure stroll, because he doesn't call people into his office for an emergency meeting on a Friday afternoon unless a building is on fire or someone has died. Nonetheless, everything is forgotten momentarily as she feels a brush of Roy's fiddling finger against hers, outstripping her normally cautious demeanor as they enter through the glass door with zero expectations.

If Riza thought Mustang was authoritative, then Bradley was definitely a dictator. The minute she sets foot in his office she feels a slight discomfort. It's not precipitated by his behavior nor the greetings he says, but solely by his presence. His posture is straight, so abnormally straight it looks like a metal rod is propping him up. And his eyes. His dark, calculating eyes drill into her and Roy's so severely Riza could have sworn someone actually  _has_  died. The air conditioner blowing from above doesn't stop her hand from perspiring at the sight of him, and the silence that permeates is slowly unsettling her core.

"Mustang, Armstrong. It has been brought to my attention that there may be a  _misconduct_  within your department…"

Riza can hear Roy take a big gulp, and she starts to fidget herself as she wonders what the big boss insinuates by  _misconduct_.

"Riza, why don't you take meeting minutes?" The formidable man hands her a pen and paper before continuing, boring his fierce vision into Roy, "My source tells me that someone has been trying to bypass me with a homeless housing proposition for the board. Mustang, have you heard anything on this issue?"

The relaxed tone with which Bradley speaks is far from accusatory, but it unsettles Riza all the same.

Roy poses his businesslike timbre, clearing his throat before answering, "No, I'm not aware. This is the first time I heard." She hopes Bradley buys it.

"If the board approves, it would drag my name through the mud. I've been trying to convince them for many years that it's better to put our money elsewhere."

Mustang counters professionally, "Right. But don't you think the tax cuts will save us even more money? I'm sure whoever it is has looked at it from all angles to make sure the company thrives from the project..."

"I have been in this position for over 30 years, so I'm sure you understand that I make the most informed decision for the company. But I also need to make sure the board's trust in me is intact, so I will need your cooperation in…  _finding_  the perpetrator."

Mustang simply replies, "Of course, sir."

Bradley pauses for a second, but he has a scheming glint in his eyes, a knowing smile across his lips, "Ah another thing, Mustang. I also heard rumors of an unreported relations between a manager and subordinate within your division… If you do hear anything about it, please let me know. This type of conduct is grounds for immediate termination of employment."

The pen in her hand slides from her grip. For a brief moment she feels as though air has been taken out of her lungs, suffocating her and stinging her nose, like she's been submerged underwater. The numbing sensation that follows steals the joy out of her, snuffing the warm sensation that's been pooling in the pit of her stomach.

Roy responds without a hint of hesitation, but Riza can sense the tension in his body from the way he settles himself at the edge of the seat. "I will, sir. Will that be all?"

"That's all. Thank you, both." He dismisses them nonchalantly, but Riza picks up a sly intonation in his speech. She's certain he knows about  _them_ , and it's  _terrifying_  her.

Riza drags her feet out of the utilitarian office, Roy following directly behind without saying a word. The sinking feeling deepens the further she ambles down the grey corridor, and she feels like a baited zombie as she walks limply toward his office. Her face feels hot, her back feels like it's drenched in sweat, and her sensible heels are so fucking tight around her toes.

She tells herself time and time again that she will never get past that sixth date, even when she finally feels comfortable enough to take their relationship to the next level. She supposes this enlightening situation is necessary as it jolts her out of her daydream and places her back into reality. She should have known it will never work out between them, and she should have listened to her reluctant mind before beginning this relationship.

She ponders if she should quit, but she  _knows_  she can't just up and leave. What would Olivier say to that? Especially now that they're also housing their little sister. How soon can she find another job? She also understands how important this career is for him, so there's no way that she would jeopardize his position within the company. Then she remembers the promise she made to keep him accountable for his life-changing project, a noble cause that she herself wants to see come to fruition.

She can feel her stomach turn sour as she listens to his heavy footsteps behind her, and she knows he's also scrambling his muddy brain for an idea to get them out of this rut. They enter his office in silence, taking their appropriate seats like a manager and his subordinate. She looks up at his face, mutely searching his shifting eyes for an answer to their troubles, only to be disappointed by finding none. He doesn't say anything at all, but he returns the same defeated look as he stares at her saddened appearance.

As Riza contemplates over every aspect of their relationship, she realizes that keeping everything professional between them is the only way out. Now is better than later, before more hurt can be inflicted. She decides she will be the courageous one, voicing their resolution to the problem at hand. She gathers strength as she puts on a solemn expression, fighting the heartache in her lilt by masking it with her businesslike demeanor, "Roy, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to cancel tonight and any other engagements going forward unless it's work related."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm sorry Olivier. I'm sorry Riza. Please don't hate me.


	13. severing the knot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thank you so much dvltgr, blazedancer1997, ssadropout, WildSilence023, LadyAureliana, muguetmuse, and Beebop for the reviews/comments on the last chapter! The heart emoji can't even begin to describe how I feel from reading your comments :).

**Hudson Loft, Christmas Eve, 8:48PM**

The crushed ice in her drink has completely melted, diluting the Bramble to the brim, but she simply stares at it with indifference. The cocktail is only a diversion after all, serving precisely two purposes for tonight's event: steering away flirtatious coworkers and business partners who want to buy her a drink  _and_  steering away flirtatious coworkers and business partners who want to buy her  _more_  drinks so they can get her drunk enough to get into her pants.

And of course, Rebecca's choice of drinks reflects her personality very accurately. The Bramble, courtesy of her, is positively exquisite. The whitish cream color is garnished with a touch of pink liqueur, one crisp blackberry, and a slice of lemon on the rim of the old fashioned glass. The British creation looks as vibrant and lively as the flowers blooming at a spring garden party, unfortunately mismatched with Riza's unamused expression. Riza never cares much for sweet cocktails, preferring instead to drown her sorrow with a vodka martini exactly how James Bond takes his, shaken not stirred. Or depending on her mood that day, she may opt for a straight up shot of tequila, because it will get her inebriated faster without much of a hangover the next day.

Riza flicks a glance at her wristwatch, her impatient brain already jogging in place to get ready for that sprint home. She doesn't know how much longer she can take the overly pop-ish 90's Christmas music that blasts obnoxiously loudly in her ears. But she thinks she can afford to give Jean another five minutes to show up and grab his girlfriend's attention away from her before she calls it quits.

The woman to her left nudges her lightly on the ribs, and Riza leans her head closer as her best friend whispers something in her ear. "Riz! How about that guy?" Except it isn't much of a whisper but more of a quiet shout because the damn music is  _booming_  in the dimly lit venue.

"Which guy?"

With an elbow propped on the bar counter, the playful woman clicks her tongue at the sea of people on the dance floor. " _That_  guy." And it really isn't that hard to pinpoint the object of Rebecca's mischief. A lanky, blonde man on the overcrowded dance floor sticks out like a sore thumb, the type of peculiarity that would warrant a second glance from passersby. It's not his formal attire nor his unremarkable appearance that grabs Riza's attention, but it's the way he awkwardly integrates himself with the rest of his dancing colleagues, inching his way to the center by raising spastic arms like he's worshiping the devil and comically bobbing his large head like no one's watching.

"He keeps looking at you." Rebecca nods in his direction once again, and it just so happens that the gawky man catches the brunette's stealthy gesture, prompting him to tilt his head toward them and stare at the two women with googly eyes, like the cat from Shrek but much creepier and certainly less cute.

Riza cocks her eyebrows, eyes widening with disbelief. "Barry from Mailroom? Rebecca… Are you serious? He looks like a serial killer!"

Rebecca twists her head towards the stubborn blonde, planting her Cosmopolitan a little too firmly and splashing some of the pink liquid onto the bougie mirror glaze, black countertop. "I'm getting desperate, Riza! You've turned down every guy who approached you so far. And people at work do talk, you know. We all know Barry is totally in love with you!"

Riza shoots her an incredulous look, narrowing her eyes, completely unamused.

But her persistent friend hasn't given up. "He keeps looking this way the  _whole_  time! Plus if you squint, he kinda looks like Brad Pitt… with dyed blonde hair… and a really small nose… and uhh beady eyes..."

"Uhh… yeah. I'm not that desperate, but thank you for thinking of me."

"But I feel bad leaving you alone! This is a party, Riza. We're supposed to have fun!  _You're_  supposed to have fun!"

There's frustration in the tone of her voice as she attempts to appease her nagging friend. "I  _am_  having fun, Becca. I'm just... I'm completely fine with staying around the bar just observing people. Go find Jean and dance with him!"

"You've been sulky lately. Did anything happen?"

She violently swirls the drink in her hand at the entirely innocent question, sloshing the pink liqueur, spilling some onto her white dress shirt and blonde tresses. "Ah shit…" Her hand instinctively searches for napkins from the bar. Finding none, she uses the one the bartender provided as cocktail coaster to wipe the sweet, sticky liquid from her hair, grunting to herself from annoyance. "No, nothing. Just tired. And I'm also helping Winry plan her wedding, so I've been preoccupied..."

Her friend's voice suddenly turns into a quiet mumble, "Oh  _shit_ , here comes trouble... Hang on to your drink." And she sneakily snatches her Burberry clutch from the counter, ready to escape from the imminent dull conversation.

Riza steals a glance at her friend's profile as she discerns the abrupt change in behavior. She jerks her head to take a glimpse at the person of interest, meeting his deep, dark eyes and regretting it only a second later.

The 'troublesome' man speaks casually, nodding a polite greeting at his colleague. "Rebecca."

Rebecca nods back with a small, feigned smile, just out of respect to someone of higher management. "Roy."

The retreating woman sneakily inches her way out step by step before locking her attention at the approaching tall, blonde man in the distance. Riza can glaringly tell how grateful she is of the man's impeccable timing from the way her eyes glint. Her friend swiftly undoes her ponytail, fingers skillfully mussing and brushing long locks of wavy hair to impossibly make herself look even more attractive. "Oh heeey, you two have fun! I'm gonna go dance with Jean now…"

 _No, no, no..._  The executive assistant can hear her mind cry for help as the handsome yet off limits director closes in on her. And after she has exerted all efforts to treat him with businesslike manner, tonight of all nights he decides to come knocking at her door. The fitted black blazer, his slicked black hair, his onyx eyes full of affection, and that soft smile she is so fond of.  _Everything_  about him screams danger, blaring the alarm in her head, constricting her chest, coursing adrenaline through her limbs. She curses him mentally for setting her body on fire, especially after she has been so  _so_  good with her resolve.

He takes his hands out of his snug trousers, and Riza can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin cupping her cheek or the way his long, beautiful fingers intertwining her own slender ones. He gives her a genuine smile, speaking with that deep and kind timbre she sorely misses, "Hey."

Bracing the glass in her hand for support, she impulsively grips it tighter until her fingertips turn white. She clears her suddenly itchy throat, croaking unattractively, "Hi..."

"How are you?" He leans against the bar alongside her, keeping a proximity of precisely six inches apart, the length of the shitty cafeteria sandwich Riza sometimes eats during her overtime days. But the gap between their bodies means he's not there to break her resolve, which eases her mind, if only slightly.

"I'm fine... Just people watching."

Her manager crosses his arms over his chest, his legs follow in motion as he crosses one over the other. The world is resolutely going against her as the music takes a drastic turn of melody, playing a soft, jazzy Christmas classic that Riza actually enjoys (and wouldn't mind slow dancing to). "I would ask you to dance, but I already know your answer to that."

Riza tries to conceal the disappointment in her eyes by staring at the polished marble floor, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, "Sorry."

"Are you enjoying the party?"

She itches to stare at him but chooses to gaze at the mellowing dancers instead as she notices King Bradley arrive at the bar, observing and possibly eavesdropping on them from a few feet away. Roy takes note of his presence, too. "Yes, I suppose…"

Sighing quietly to herself, she tries to shake off that unwelcomed tingle in her body. Riza realizes how difficult it is to hold a conversation with Roy without sensing that pain in her heart or struggling to put aside that longing to hold him in her arms or wrestling with the urge to wish him a happy holiday by way of mistletoes hanging overhead. But like Roy, she's an expert at carrying herself in a professional setting, keeping their demeanor deferential yet casual, even among drunken bar patrons left and right who suddenly find a penchant for making every drink order sound like some sexual innuendos,  _especially_  under the scrutiny of a  _certain_  cunning man.

He mirrors her gesture and directs his sight at the dance floor, watching as couples find their significant others to sway to the slow rhythm. "Notorious."

"Wh-what?"

"The black-and-white film with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant."

Her eyes widen slightly, still looking away from him. "Yes, what about it?" The classic has recently become her favorite movie because they had watched it together during one of their date nights, with his strong arms wrapping around her shoulder. She shudders just thinking about the wonderful sensation.

"Do you recall the  _discussion_  we had the other day? Criticizing their way of relaying secret messages and donning fake identities?"

She chuckles lightheartedly, "Yes. That was a very entertaining  _discussion_ …"  _that ended with them coming up with ridiculous ways of relaying secret messages before succumbing to first-base make out sessions._

"So…" He gives her a playful smile. "How good of a secret agent do you think you'll make?"

Her expression turns quizzical. The strange question, coupled with the mischievous smile on his face? She humors him nonetheless. "Hmm I don't know. You should ask my sister. She can probably give you a better answer."

"I think it will be fun. You know, using fake  _names_  and all," he states casually, emphasizing that one word with a rising intonation.

Her perceptive eyes shoot him a sidelong glance, seeing a smirk tug in the corner of his mouth. She replies with nonchalance, "Hmm… you think so?"

Her sight rests on the dance floor yet again, pretending to take an interest in the night's activity. But the cogs in her mind proactively turn, awaiting for that clicking sound as it rotates into place. His suggestive statement affirmatively sounds like a proposition to replay their little game, similar to the one from that thoroughly enjoyable movie night. She pieces together the film reference and mention of secret messages and fake names, sharply considering the clues strewn about.

"Anyway, enough about that…" He switches the position of his legs, crossing it over to the other side. "You know how I went to lunch with  _Ida_  from Marketing the other day? She told me she's going to take a 6 month maternity leave. Apparently the department went apeshit when they heard the news."

She scoffs reactively, "Oh? I didn't even know 6 months was possible. You know, the U.S. has some amazing family leave policies."

"Oh, do I detect sarcasm there?"

She replies passionately, "Of course."

"How's  _Mike_  from Accounting doing? You talk to him every now and then, right?"

The abrupt change of topic is certainly interesting, but it only confirms the conclusion she arrives at regarding the little game they are playing. "Well, aren't you the curious one. He's doing fine if you're referring to the injury he got from the softball league."

"Nothing wrong with being curious.  _Ian_  from Security is always asking for the latest gossip."

The corner of her lips tug upward when she hears another name spoken. "Oh does he now? I didn't know that and I've been at the company for what… almost five years."

" _Susan_  and  _Shan_ , too. Be careful when you're around them, because they would definitely pay someone just to cook up another slice of that tasty workplace drama."

She chuckles lightly, the cogs finally clicking into place after hearing a wide range of random colleagues' names, some of which she has never even met. "Good to know."

"You know,  _Uni_  from Legal said he might consider leaving the company so he can work at a proper law firm."

She turns her torso to face him. "You make friends easily don't you? This is only your what, second month? And everyone's already telling you their deepest, darkest secrets."

"Maybe." Roy shoots her that heart stopping smirk.

He materializes a forced cough into his hand, "Oh and before I forget, I also want to tell you that our  _overtime_  is finally paying off. We should see results as early as next year." He looks at her, presenting the most sincere smile that sets her cheeks ablaze.

She smiles back at him as she attempts to calm her palpitating heart, understanding the meaning behind his words. "That's good to know."

Roy eventually removes himself from his leaning position, settling his sight at the exit sign. "Alright, it's getting late. I'm going to head out. Merry Christmas, Riza."

Riza's periphery notices Bradley shift from his position at the bar to a dark corner in the venue, chatting up some private investors and sipping his drink elegantly, no longer stealing glances at a certain manager and subordinate.

As she watches Roy leave, her eager mind pieces each and every hint together, stringing carefully the message he has left for her. When she's finally finished, she can't help but feel a delightful twist in her stomach. She reflexively calls out to him with hitching breath, hoping the music won't drown her voice, "Roy!"

He turns around at the call of his name.

"I uh... You, too, Roy! Merry Christmas to you, too!"

Bradley lingers a suspicious stare at her but quickly immerses himself in his prior conversation as he discerns nothing concerning regarding her shout.

But what Bradley doesn't see is that Riza's mouth involuntarily curves upward into a knowing smile as she meets Roy's gaze, and a moment after, she sees the same smile crosses her manager's lips, enveloping her heart with warmth, thinking that this Christmas may not be so terrible after all.

_...You, too, Roy. I miss u, too._

 

* * *

 

**Abandoned Warehouse, Friday Before New Year, 1:14AM**

The '69 Impala parked outside of the warehouse shelters three men inside, each possibly as large as the one before him. Cocked guns are definitely in the back of his mind, a constant reminder to be cautious when he proceeds with his practiced dialogue. His keen eyes can already see the metal object nestled underneath the baggy Atlanta Falcon jersey.

"How much shit do you need,  _puto_?"

The white-haired detective has been in this situation countless of times they no longer intimidate him. The burly man in front of him keeps sucking in his large belly, his loud uneven breaths accompany the sound of flickering yellow light and the occasional cricket noises. Judging solely by the size, the man is both a threat and a joke for a drug dealer of this caliber. They normally send someone quick enough to whip out the gun snugly holstered behind thick, leather belt. This guy doesn't even have a belt.

"How much you got?"

The  _cholo_  addresses him with a rough accent typical of people south of the border, complete with the Jesus Cristo tattoo on his right arm just like in the photo their team covertly snapped a couple of weeks back. "10 kilos max for you, but I'll add an extra kilo because your whore is  _hermosa_."

Her wavy, long blonde hair falls over one side, covering one ear, and her hourglass figure underneath glittery, red bodycon dress is a sight to behold in the midst of dingy, putrid smelling, ten thousand square feet brick walled ghetto. Her black, four-inch heels complete the look of a dimwitted escort who has no idea what kind of danger she's currently in. She clings onto her partner by the arm, intermittently pecking him on the cheek for her undercover role, hoping it's convincing enough.

"Aw, thank you. You look  _hermoso_  yourself," she responds with a high pitched inflection, giggling ever so loudly. She wants to gag everytime she hears the forced modulation, but the gangbanger seems to buy it, so she takes that as a win.

The ugly man smirks to himself before bending down with difficulty to snatch a black briefcase from underneath the surgeon table separating him and the two detectives. His bulging eyes suspiciously flick a glance into the distance, and only a second later Olivier hears a warning echo in her ear,  _"Incoming, east side. Three guys. Backup is coming in 5."_

Well, shit. But at least she has also practiced the part for when their cover is blown. "Babe, my feet are hurting. I need to take off my heels..." She bends down on one knee, tugging her partner's sleeve furtively to let him know of the abrupt change on situation. "Miles, on your right!"

Unstrapping the small handgun from his foot holster in a smooth motion, Miles shoots one man running toward him in the leg, causing the gangster to fall on his face with a piercing shriek.

The disgusting man with a belly as large as a sumo wrestler charges at the blonde, but she smirks at his sluggishness and proceeds to land a powerful front kick to his jaw, knocking the man on his ass with a loud thud.

The next few minutes are full of ringing gunshots and pained yelps, and by the time reinforcement arrives to subdue the rest of the criminal, the two detectives have already started collecting the few kilos of heroin from a metal cabinet.

"They're not the source," one officer comments with disappointment.

Olivier interjects matter-of-factly, "Of course not. They're small time. But I was hoping this fugly asshole right here would talk." She plants one heel on his chubby face, prodding the unconscious man on the floor without stirring him up.

A playful tease comes from behind her, "Armstrong, you need to play your part better. That kiss wasn't even remotely believable."

"Shut the fuck up, Darius."

"You need to clutch Miles a little tighter! And you shouldn't be able to understand Spanish. You're supposed to be stupid, remember?"

Miles interferes when he notices the seams on Olivier's forehead tightens, "Alright gentlemen. That's enough. It's late, let's call it a night, yeah?"

Guiding her by the shoulder, Detective Miles pulls his irritated partner over to a quiet, private corner just outside the warehouse. He inquires with genuine concern, "I know you've been busy and exhausted from planning Winry's wedding and Izumi's baby shower, but something's off tonight… You're usually such a good actor. What's wrong?"

She scoffs as she studies his worried expression, exasperation still lodged in her lilt, "You're one to talk… You're a much better actor than I'll ever be."

He shoots her an incredulous look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're better at pretending that shit's going well when it's really not!" And just like that her resolve to stay calm and collected has gone down the drain. He has absolutely no right to ask her if something is wrong, especially when he's hiding such a  _significant_  information.

"Okay, now I know that something  _is_  wrong. Olivier, what is it?"

The blonde woman sighs to herself as she tries to slow down her racing heart. The tightness in her chest has been cumbersome since that fateful day at the kid's store, but even more so tonight as she forced herself to clutch onto Miles's arm like a  _mistress_. In spite of it all, the news of her transfer will reach him sooner than later, so she decides that tonight will be the best night to break it to him. "I… will no longer be part of Central precinct as of next year. My transfer to Northeast has already been approved by the chief."

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait... Why have I not heard this before?" His shoulders stiffens, tensing him uncomfortably in the back of his neck.

"It's because I told the chief to keep it quiet."

Annoyance laces his voice, "Were you planning on  _telling me_  at all?"

There's an air of vulnerability about displaying emotions, and she's been trying so hard to avoid breaching into this realm. But she can't help herself tonight, not when the unrelenting pain in her chest has been throbbing constantly. "...Were you planning on telling me that your wife is pregnant?"

He stares at her dumbfounded, mouth parting widely, eyebrows cocked high. His heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach as he registers the news. "What… did you say?"

"I said, your wife is fucking pregnant!"

Sourness brews in his intestines as he examines her pained expression. He now understands the root of his partner's anger, but he himself can't contain the shock. "I… I didn't know. She hasn't told me the news..."

She spits out a retort with trembling voice, "Well I'm telling you now... Congratulations, you're going to be a father!"

Olivier swiftly turns around and trudges toward the opposite direction, unwilling to let the man see tears form in the corner of her eyes.

But she hears heavy footfall by her side, and the distressed detective snatches her arm, gripping it desperately. "Wait Olivier… where does this leave us?"

What Miles sees next breaks his heart into a million pieces. Red, swollen eyes have replaced her determined, blue orbs. Fair complexion is now smeared by the black eyeliner she put on for the undercover mission. But her quivering lips is what sends him over the edge, and he reflexively caresses her moist cheek, staring at the strong and courageous woman before him whimper in anguish. "Olivier… please don't cry... We can work this out..."

Olivier's breath hitches for a second as she suppresses the urge to rest her head on his chest, to wrap her arms over his broad torso. She has decided weeks ago that there is no future in their relationship. Everything has been wrong from the minute it started. The circumstances had been wrong, the timing had been wrong, and she was almost certain the admiration they had for each other was rather misinterpreted as love. She comforts herself that she will get over it, just like how she got over other men before him, but a part of her isn't so optimistic of this prospect as she stares into those piercing amber eyes. He is, after all, one of the reasons she's so brilliant at her job. But without a doubt, he is the  _one_  and  _only_  reason she was able to open herself up to her little sister.

Her black makeup smudges even more, trailing down dark liquid over her cheeks. "Miles, the last thing I want is for this child to grow up without a father…"

He can feel his own tears spill over, tasting the salt on his lips. "...But what about... us?"

"You know this is for the best…" She gingerly blankets his hands with her own, letting herself revel in the feel of his warm, calloused skin for one last time. Her expression shows decisiveness and finality, but it is the wistful smile across her lips that shatters the rest of his being as he perceives her reluctant farewell. "Take care of them both, Miles… And good luck with everything."

 

* * *

 

 

**Garfiel Auto Mechanic, 3:30PM**

If Winry were an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, interlocked by an array of emotions to make a complete picture, then that night at the park was undoubtedly the missing  _joy_  piece. When she returned home a little later than promised that night, her two fully awake and irritated sisters were there to greet her with worry lining their faces. Winry had suffered Olivier's incessant scolding, along with Riza's firm agreement to the reprimand, but their reaction reassured her that she was  _never alone_ , that she was cared for. And in spite of everything that had happened during the eventful night, she daringly reached for her phone as she tucked herself into bed, attempting to overcome her fear of her assailant by re-reading his text message. She waited for her heartbeat to quicken, sweat to form, but they never came. Instead, she felt steady heartbeat and dry palms as she contemplated on the idea of confronting him. For the first time in a long time, she was truly  _hopeful_  about her healing.

Now that she is a little closer to assembling the complete picture, she is burning with determination to be  _independent_  once again.

As she enters the auto shop, Winry's ears are ringing from the familiar sound of machinery whirring. Blue metal sheets follow a long stretch of the rectangular work space, a variety of old and new cars being repaired outlining the wall. The prospect of getting her hands dirty again is scary and thrilling all at the same time, and she can already see the wide smile curving on her lips.

She approaches the closest mechanic, gingerly poking a finger at the man wearing a white bandana. As he looks up, she observes an irritated face about him. "What do you want, little girl?"

"Hi, my name is Winry. I found your ad on a local newspaper. You're looking for a mechanic and I want to apply for the job."

His grey hair sticks onto his sweaty forehead, some wildly jutting out of the head cloth. Winry can tell he has been spending a good amount of time working on the car albeit taking a little longer than normal from the way his shirt soaks in a puddle of sweat. The rude man replies without another glance at Winry, and instead focuses on testing the car by turning the engine on and off. "This is no place for someone like you. We need someone a little more experienced."

Winry asks casually, "Transmission issue?"

The man stares at her with curiosity, "How do you know?"

"Ahh… I can tell from the constant burning smell. It won't go away until you replace it with a new one, but it looks like that's what you're doing next."

From a distance, a feminine shout is heard. "Dom! Can you give me a hand, dear?"

"Can't you see I'm busy?! Give me like half hour and I'll help you!"

Before she takes the brunt of 'Dom's' anger, Winry approaches the inquiring man, sticking her head intrusively below the car lift. "Can I help you, sir?"

The curled sideburns and stylish dark hair on the man seem to belong at a fashion show rather than at a repair shop. The flamboyant man expressively gasps when he finds an unexpected face. "Oh my… and who are you, young miss?"

"My name is Winry. I'm here to apply for the mechanic job."

The look he gives her is one of doubt as he eyes her up and down her length, but he points his finger into the core of the car nonetheless. "You see there under the dashboard? There's moisture build up underneath, and I'm having a hard time reaching the small space. Can you take a look for me?"

Winry does what was told, carefully and diligently inspecting the areas. Her curious mind starts to tweak and prod at the metal object surrounding it, feeling adrenaline course through her as her nose was hit with that exciting grease scent and as her hand feels the weight of the cold, aluminum car parts. Ten minutes and one satisfied face later, she rolls her head out of the conclave, oil and dirt on her blonde locks, but she feels entirely wonderful. She gives the mechanic a wide, delightful grin, handing his wrench back. "All done, sir. I also found a small pinhole inside that probably would have caused some interior fogging on the windshield. I removed it and installed the new parts already."

He faces the young woman with a disbelief look. "Oh darling, that's wonderful news! Thank you for the help. And the coolant?"

Winry responds with a small smile, "Already refilled."

"Oh."

The young mechanic interrupts smoothly, "You just need to test for more condensation."

"Right. Thank you…"

"You're welcome." Another small smile.

The astonished man rolls himself from underneath the car lift, rubbing his dirty hands on his shirt, and he rises to a stand to take a good look at the young girl who had just proven to him that one shouldn't judge a mechanic by appearance. "And you're here to apply for the job?"

Winry simply nods.

"You see that poster over there?"

Winry twists her head to look at the famous World War II propaganda poster. Her features are full of confusion as she attempts to understand what a picture of a strong female icon has anything to do with a job interview. "I don't understand…?"

"Honey, the woman in the picture is strong and brave and competent. We need someone like that." He flicks her a teasing smirk, putting his hands on his hips. "You think you can do it, darling?"

If their clients hadn't been around and observing, Winry was 100% sure she would have already squealed in excitement or jumped for joy without a care. But instead she composes herself, slowly curling her lips upward into a wide smile as her heart pounds from the elation. "Yes, I can do it."

 

* * *

 

 

**Editorial Building on North Highland, 7:01PM**

Plastered with popular words from viral internet memes, the orange wall in the background also serves to brighten the otherwise drab cemented wall of the industrial looking building. A TARDIS in the middle of the open meeting room also accentuates the typical wooden planks it sits atop, smartly surrounded by spacecraft looking pods that looks as futuristic as the rest of the decor. Grey, contemporary sofas are decorated with cats and dogs throw pillows. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if she actually hears a bark or a meow come from the next room.

The giant office contains an energetic mix of keyboards clacking, along with a generous sprinkle of social chatters. She tries hard not to stare at them with mouth agape as she observes actual, genuine smiles on many of their faces. Because unlike them, by this time of night she usually longs for that comfortable bed to plop on, questioning her life choices, justifying everything by the shitton of money she makes.

"Have a seat, Riza." The mole under her left eye only accentuates her beauty, along with the pixie haircut she dons and an offbeat fashion sense that yells a down-to-earth personality.

Riza gingerly lowers herself onto the bright red armchair, feeling the plush of the cushion the moment her bottom meets the linen fabric. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me after work hours."

Her interviewer's mouth curls into a vibrant smile. "No problem, Riza. We all have strange work hours here... I just hope that doesn't deter you from continuing with the process."

"No, not at all." She throws her a small smile, feeling beads of nervous sweat form on her palm.

"And consider yourself lucky that there's an opening in the News department. The turnover is usually super low there. And you must be someone special if the Colonel goes out of his way to refer you."

Her brows furrow from the strange nickname. "The Colonel?"

"Didn't Roy ever tell you how obsessed he is with history? That guy is a fucking nerd."

"Ahhh…" She giggles with amusement, tucking the term of endearment in the back of her mind for safekeeping. "Yes, he did tell me that." The nervousness she felt has completely evaporated.

"Anyway, I reviewed the work you submitted, and at this point I'd like to have you meet with the members on our team. Are you okay with that?" Riza nods briefly. "Good. Come with me."

The two men she meets in the next room only further highlights the friendliness of the workplace. The older, silver haired man has to be at least six feet tall, even with the occasional slouch she observes every now and then. The other man is youthful with black, spiky hair. His face is accompanied by round, nerdy glasses that doesn't seem to ever leave the bridge of his nose by the way it indents the skin. Even when they can pass as father and son, their interaction speaks more like two friends who share much of the same interests.

"Riza, this is Vato Falman."

"Nice to meet you, Riza."

"And this is Kain Fuery."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

As Kain pulls a total of five chairs, Maria smiles at Riza, giving the doorway a sideway glance for one missing colleague. "Riza, you probably have noticed by now that we have a pretty unconventional interview process… Right now all we need to do is just talk."

Riza tilts her head slightly. "Talk?"

"Yeah, talk. Tell us how the Colonel is doing. How's his campaign coming along?" An older man with a thick, curved mustache similar to the Monopoly man emerges from the door, a silly toothy grin on his face. His circular old school glasses perches just below the bridge of his nose, showing the century he's from, but his gait is surprisingly upright. If Riza has never seen the definition of eccentric, then she has definitely seen it now as she studies the old man before her.

Riza's mouth quirks into an incredulous smile, "Wait, what campaign?"

There's an embarrassed look on Maria's face, but she interjects ever so smoothly, "Riza, this is George Grumman. He's head of the News department."

At this point, Riza admits that she is somewhat overwhelmed by the weird line of questions. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Grumman… Sorry, can I ask how you all know... Roy?"

"He used to intern and then worked here when the company was at its infancy," Kain chimes in.

Maria adds, "Part of the spectacular News team. I'm actually surprised to see him pursue a career in real estate. I could have sworn he wanted to run for office."

Vato states sagely, "He's leaving trails of achievement for himself for when he actually runs for mayor in a few years."

Completely baffled, Riza turns to face Grumman, confusion on her face. "I'm not trying to be rude, but aren't you going to ask me questions about the article I submitted? Criticize it maybe?"

Grumman shifts his chair closer to Riza, smiling widely like a clown. "We read it and we love it. You have the university qualifications, and the article is very insightful into the volatile housing market. You're obviously smarter than the typical executive assistant."

Without warning, another stranger enters the room. There's an aura of familiarity about his black, spiky hair and his rectangular shaped glasses. But his recognizable face only clicks in Riza's head the moment he speaks with his overly elated, high pitched voice. "Oh heeeey, so you're Riza!"

It's the guy from the bookstore. Roy's friend.

"Um, nice to meet you, Mister...?"

"Hughes. Maes Hughes. You're his assistant. The one we saw at the bookstore?"

Maria gives him a dirty look, but the smile that arises on her face suggests an amicable relationship between the two. "What are you doing here, Maes? You're not part of this department!"

Riza throws the inquiring man an awkward smile. "Um yes, that was me at the bookstore…"

"Ooo do I sense…  _gossip_?" Grumman comments with a chuckle.

Maes places a hand on his chin, examining Riza with a suspicious glint in his eyes. "No wonder Roy said all of those things at the store… I see it now."

The rest of the team eyes Hughes curiously.

The confusion on Riza's face is as clear as day. "What do you mean by that? He said a lot of hurtful things that day..."

"Oh shit, the Colonel said hurtful things to you?" Maria's eyes widen with disbelief.

But Maes's eyes narrow into a slit, and a mischievous smile forms on his lips. "You see... Roy doesn't like it when I ask him about women. He's quite private and thinks I pry too much... But he would never,  _ever_  go as far as making fun of them, let alone say hurtful things…  _unless_  he likes them. Unless he  _really_  likes them."

Riza can feel heat creep up her face as snickers and giggles fill the room. When she stepped foot into the building, she had prepared herself with a series of interview questions, repeatedly answering said questions in her head. But what's laid out in front of her is the furthest definition of an interview, and she surprisingly rather enjoys the friendly banter and lively atmosphere. She supposes she can get used to it if she gets the job.  _If_  she gets the job. "I'm sorry, but can I ask if I actually… passed the interview?"

As the men huddle in the background with wide grins, Maria rolls her chair beside her, handing her a thick folder. "You got the job, Riza. We've had this prepared for you since this morning, but the team insisted on meeting Roy's assistant, so I obliged."

Riza interrupts hesitantly, "And I got the job not because of Roy… right?"

Maria smiles sincerely. "No. It's all you and the article you wrote. The only unfortunate thing we can't offer at this point is the match to your current salary. But I think you will make a great addition to our team, so I hope you will accept."

Riza faces her with a small smile, comforted by the fact that her own merit earns her the position.

She sees an eager smile curve on Maria's lips, and the woman leans her head forward to Riza as she inquires with excitement, "So, are you going to accept?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wasn't planning on writing so much Team Mustang stuff (it was supposed to just be, "Yes, Riza, you got the job")… but I can't help myself...


	14. moving forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to blazedancer1997, dvltgr, blue_moon_wolf, Toph2411, ssadropout, muguetmuse, WildSilence023, Susy and Guest(s) for your review! You guys never fail to make my day! Also special thanks to Cheezus for beta'ing and bouncing off ideas with me, I love you sm :)

**Limestone Coffee Co, Medford, OR, Day after New Year**

It's not too late to drive back.

No. No, this must be done.

But what if seeing him would trigger a panic attack? What would Edward say when he finds out?

The fidgeting with her fingers has not let up as evidenced by the crumpled piece of receipt inside her twill jacket. The poor thing is ripped apart, with its printed black text most likely smeared all over her clammy hands. She itches to take her hands out of her jacket pocket as they continue to warm up from nervous sweat, but she keeps them in nonetheless for fear of seeing anxious shake of the hands with her own eyes… because that would mean she is still afraid of him.

One week time off visiting her fiance has been filled with productive wedding planning and sporadic catching up and visiting the beautiful campus arboretum, which according to Edward, is unfortunately the only attraction in the otherwise boring university town. But instead of catching her flight home after a truly wonderful week, here she is four hours past her destination, in the middle of a quiet and idle city, trapped with that small town charm bubble that emanates friendliness and hospitality. She had never been here before nor had she ever thought about visiting. But what she needs is closure, one that she's planning to attain before getting married to the love of her life, one she knows she can only get by confronting a  _certain_  someone. And if closure means she needs to drive 300 miles further north and paying a ridiculous amount of transfer fee to catch a different flight home, then so be it.

Approaching the entrance to the small coffee shop, she can feel the building moisture on her palm as her grip inadvertently slips from the door handle. She then attempts to calm her palpitating heart, holding her uneven breath for a brief moment before exhaling at a delayed rate. Looking from the outside in, Winry observes that the townspeople seem to flock to this shop, much to her relief, because empty seats seem to be a rarity. She eventually pulls the cold metal bar, swinging the door wide open, exposing her nostrils to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and ears to loud jovial chatters of the patrons. As she scans the crowd, she squeezes in a second of her time to mutter a chant of prayer under her breath consisting of 'you'll be fine's and 'believe in yourself's, before materializing a familiar pile of blonde hair.

She takes small, reluctant strides toward him and wishes herself good luck.

Approaching the man, she sees that his short hair is still as neatly combed as before, but the one noticeable difference is the face it frames. Gaunt doesn't even begin to describe his appearance, because the attractive features that used to line his appearance are no longer there. Instead they are replaced by sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones, chapped lips and uneven stubble all along his jawline. The shirt he wears is overly baggy for his skinny figure, and the off-white color doesn't help because the streaks of coffee stain across the fabric makes him look even more like a homeless person.

If pity is the look he's going for, then he would definitely earn it from onlookers. Unfortunately, Winry has experienced first hand what that "pitiful" man is capable of and had repeatedly blamed herself for seeing a friend in him, for seeing someone she could trust. But she has become a little bit wiser and has since removed her rose-tinted glasses to don a more skeptical eyewear. But on top of the wisdom, she has also learned that running away is not the solution to  _this_  problem, and that is precisely why she's here.

He awkwardly waves at her when a pair of blue meets silver eyes. She has expected her nervous self to set off bouts of dreadful sensations, weakening her legs perhaps or freezing her in place, or worse, rendering her unconscious in the middle of the crowded shop. But what she feels is far from all of those, because pure, passionate rage quickly consumes her as she stares at his heartbreaking appearance; so terribly out of control that the heavy wrench in her purse might actually be used today if she continues to feel this way.

Screeching the chair in front of him, she feels her body shake from the boiling of her blood, but she takes her seat as calmly as she can and with dignity. "I'm here. What do you want?"

His voice is unrecognizable, hoarse and breathy, like he has been smoking too much. "Thanks for coming, Winry... and I could have met you in Portland, you know… that way it would be less of a drive from Warrenton…"

"I'm in the area." Staring at him with a murderous look, she digs her fingernails into her palm as she lies through her teeth. But as she listens to his rambling, at least one thing is certain: he doesn't know that she has moved to a different state, and that is a consolation in and of itself.

"...but I chose the most crowded place… hoping it will make you feel more comfortable... I… I'm asking you to… meet me… so I can… apologize… I mean… I love you, Winry… and I thought... you loved me, too..."

Winry interjects sharply, "Please don't mistake my coming here as my way of accepting your apology. I am only here so you can stop bothering me with the texts. And I hope you know that this meeting is not so much for you as it is for me, because I don't give a  _shit_  about you." The stern speech is delivered so smoothly it almost sounded practiced.

His hands brace the coffee cup for support as he forces a casual conversation from his mouth, purposely deflecting Winry's harsh statement. "...That's a nice ring you're wearing... Congratulations, I suppose...?"

But she can't suppress the irritation in her lilt, "Cut the bullshit, will you?!"

Without warning, Russell crushes the cup until the dark brown liquid reaches the brim, so tightly clasped that another ounce of grip would send the coffee splashing onto the table. But his eyes are still obsessively fixed on her ring finger.

For a brief moment Winry wonders if his fixating stare might scare her away, because it is disturbingly similar to the gaze he held that regretful night. But as she notices a sudden quiver in his body, the young woman is starting to feel a small tinge of pity for the skinny man before her. His agitation is so similar to the addicts at the halfway house from back in her hometown, a collection of sad looking people suffering from drugs or alcohol withdrawal or whatever other substance causing the same uncontrollable tremble. But seeing him like this only eases her distress, and the fear she thought she felt goes out the window as instinctively as her next intake for breath.

He loosens his grip on the cup, swallowing thickly as he stammers a string of explanation, "Winry, I just want to say… I'm sorry... I don't expect us to be friends anymore… And I promise this is… the last time you will see me… But at least hear me out…"

"...Okay, what?"

"...Well… I've been going to rehab… and making sure I'm getting help… I uh… have been sober for a few weeks now… And it's true that I hurt you... and may have touched you inappropriately… but you didn't say no..."

The sympathy she has for the man is quickly replaced by another outburst of rage, and she intuitively slips a hand inside her purse, gripping the wrench tightly. If spontaneous human combustion is a real phenomenon, then Winry's fuming form would be it. "Inappropriate?! I didn't say 'no'?! What the hell is wrong with you?! You fucking  _raped_  me!"

Leaning his head towards her, he whispers as quietly as possible, but Winry can hear the anxiety in his tone, "Winry… ca-calm down… I only… I just want to ask… Did you… ever report me…? Because so far… no police… has come knocking on my door or anything… You haven't… right? You wouldn't?"

Her chair screeches backwards, and she slams the table loudly with her palms, earning glances from the cleaning barista and nearby patrons. She swiftly swipes the coffee in front of him, splashing the brown liquid and wishing for it to still be scalding hot so it would burn his despicable face. "Fuck you, Russell! That's what you care about, you son of a bitch?!"

"Wait!" He shushes her and grabs her wrist without warning.

Winry widens her eyes, fire burning across her blue irises as she violently removes his hand from her wrist. "You want to know how I  _feel_? The  _shame_  and the  _fear_  I felt? And how I feel like I will never be good enough for Ed because of what happened?!"

His whisper is shaky, "Wi-Winry… Please be quiet..."

Gritting her teeth, she raises her voice without reservations, "Do you know how hard it was for me to tell my sisters about this?! How long I waited and kept it a secret before I could say anything?! And how I kept thinking it was all my fault the whole time?!"

Russell merely sits still, eyes wide and shocked. Disturbed customers sitting in nearby tables give her a sideway glance, some unabashedly watch their altercation with interest. "You know… I thought coming here and confronting you would give me closure... Well, guess what?! It doesn't! And I promise you that I  _will be_  claiming everything in my life back!"

"Wha-what are you saying…"

Inhaling deeply, she rises to stand with her hands spread on the table, fingernails clawing like they're about to rip apart the wooden table. She tilts her head forward and drills a piercing gaze at him, speaking her lie with conviction, "I  _reported_  you to the cops before coming here. See you in court, asshole!"

What she said sent him to the brink of a mental breakdown, because she can see beads of sweat form on his hairline as quickly as she blinks. His eyes are bulging and full of fear, posture as stiff as a board as his jaw hangs loose unattractively. His entire face looks pale and deathly as though he can see his life tick away with every second that passes. And the longer she studies his frightened expression, the closer she senses her confidence returning, and she celebrates it with a satisfied smirk on her face as the rest of her body shudders from the thrill.

Trotting with her head up high, she leaves the crowded coffee shop with lighter steps and enters her car, periodically glancing through the windshield for her assailant to emerge. Seeing nobody, she sighs full of relief and pulls out of the parking lot to head for the closest police department. As her fury dwindles down, she contemplates to herself through the drive whether she should follow through with her threat.

Parking her car, she grips the steering wheel tightly until her knuckles turn white. She replays their exchange mentally and comes to the conclusion that this chapter of her life won't be complete until her perpetrator faces justice, reminding herself that one sexual assault is already one too many. And as much as she had insisted on keeping things quiet in the beginning for a million of valid reasons, she realizes how much of a disservice she's doing to herself if she lets him go unpunished, further aggravated by the terrifying notion of possible potential victims he can notch on his belt.

She exits the car, stepping into the bustling Medford Police Department. Her palm on one hand is sweaty as she fumbles with the car keys, the other is gripping so tightly onto her purse strap she is sure it will leave an indentation on the leather material. Taking small, reluctant steps, she reaches the first window with a uniformed officer stationed behind it, and she gulps nervously as she softly taps on the glass. The police woman looks up at her, and Winry returns her gaze with bated breath. Her pounding heart is beating loudly in her ears, but she gathers courage and speaks aloud her first step towards freedom, "My name is Winry. I was sexually assaulted and I want to report it."

Winry emerges from the double door with a triumphant smile on her face. The air that has left her lungs finally returns, breathing life back into her body, filling her up with a calming sensation of relief as she closes this tragic chapter of her life.

 

* * *

 

**Day after New Year, 5:33PM**

Following her sister's impatient strides, Olivier eventually falls into step beside her when the line stops a short distance from the cartoony entrance. "Riz, coming here is a terrible idea..."

" _Space Ranger, come in."_

Riza takes out her brown clip, pinning her hair into a messy bun. "We have to take your mind off of him... You know this is working."

"And Winry's okay with us being here? She's not jealous?"

Pointing at the dwindling line, she nudges her older sister to close their distance from the mother and son pair in front of them. "She was the one who suggested it, actually…" Riza smirks playfully. "Winry said, 'Did you know Olivier is a big Thumper fan?' She found the grey bunny stuffed in your closet when she was cleaning up one day."

" _Now blast him with everything you got!"_

"What the fuck?!" The eavesdropping mom in front of them gives Olivier a dirty look, taking her son's hand and getting into the green-blue two seater vehicle. Olivier shoots her a dirty look in return before facing her sister with a flustered expression. "I hid it in my closet for a reason..."

Riza laughs out loud at her admission, stepping onto the moving walkway to get into the circular shaped attraction. Taking her blue hoodie off, Riza rolls up her long sleeve shirt as she takes a seat on the leftmost side. "Admit it, the bunny is cute."

Climbing into the vehicle after Riza, Olivier mirrors her sister and rolls her sleeves up, inspecting the plastic pistol equipped into the vehicle. "Alright I do like the bunny, and yes I think it's cute, but that doesn't mean I  _want_  to be here. And what the hell are we supposed to do with this blue laser gun shit?"

Pointing the red laser at the wall, Riza's mouth quirks upward as she calibrates her gun-wielding posture to the approximate distance of the targets. "Well, remember how we always say we're going to Disneyland once we have enough money? We're living our childhood dreams now, Olivier. Oh, and we're here so I can prove to you that I'm still better than you at shooting."

"What?"

The ride jerks their bodies as it starts to move again from its idle position. Her sister points her index finger at a blue target in the distance, distracting Olivier whose hand is barely latched onto the round blaster gun. "There, to your right!" Riza then skillfully aims her gun past her sister's surprised face and at Evil Emperor Zurg's chest, shooting it dead center and lighting up the triangle-the target with the highest possible points. Riza twists the seat to face the opposite direction, firing the red laser at several round targets effortlessly and lighting them up with precision. "Come on, Liv. You think you can beat me?"

Her older sister grips the plastic pistol in her practiced hand, index finger looped around the trigger. "Heh. Do you remember when dad taught us how to shoot can targets?" Olivier expertly aims at a purple diamond target, buzzing it with a wave of yellow lights. Switching quickly to other targets surrounding it, lighting them up all at once like a Christmas tree.

Riza glides her weapon smoothly between three diamond targets, hitting them all and accumulating several thousand points higher than Olivier in a matter of seconds. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Did I ever let you win? I think not." Olivier forcefully steers the vehicle to face her portion of the wall, aiming at four hard-to-spot triangle markers close to the ceiling, lighting up the targets the moment her gun blasts at them. "Ha! Got those ones."

Riza glances at the dashboard, seeing her score beat by five thousand points from Olivier's last shot. She closes one eye for a more accurate aim, pointing her pistol at a row of diamond targets, hitting each one multiple times and bringing her score up to beat Olivier's as they reach the end of the tunnel. "I don't know, Liv... From what I remember, I would win more often than not." She smirks at her older sister as she holsters the gun back into its slot, glancing at the glowing score of two million points, one hundred thousand higher than Olivier's. Jumping out of the ride, Riza gestures to Olivier to view the televised status board before fully exiting the attraction. Riza has claimed the number one slot for the best shooter that day. "See? I still haven't lost my touch."

"Alright fine, you win. I'm still better than you at hand-to-hand combat though..." Olivier laughs out loud, strapping her bag over her shoulder. But as they exit the surprisingly entertaining attraction, Olivier can't help but slip a hand inside her purse, checking her phone for the hundredth time for a possible missed call or text message.

But the ever observant Riza takes notice, glancing quickly at her sister's disappointed expression. "Are you still thinking about him?"

Olivier's hand dawdles with the leather strap of her purse as she hesitantly slips her phone back into her purse. But the despondency on her face remains from the way her lips flatten and her distracted eyes blank out. "Well, it's kind of hard not to think about someone you uh…  _worked_  with for a long time…"

Riza purses her lips as she zigzags her way out of an endless line of frantic teenagers. "Why did you stop seeing him again...?"

"Things just aren't working as well as I thought it would..." But Olivier becomes silent as the image of a red-haired pregnant woman flashes in her mind. More often than not she believes that her decision to break up with the detective was premature, especially so if what he had told her about his wife and their love life were true. Nevertheless, guilt would always wash over her as she mulls over what she had done with the married man, breaking work protocol and carrying on a secret love affair, technicality considered. But there were many  _many_  times, including today, where Olivier can't help herself but question whether the baby really is his. After all, he did say that he hasn't  _loved_  her for a while. Whatever that means. But then her contemplative mind also reflects on the fact that the white-haired detective hasn't reached out to her for over a week, suggesting to her that perhaps the baby really is his...

"You know what would make you feel better?" Getting in line at one of the churro stands, Riza orders the sugary treat for her sister and a frozen lemonade for herself before quickly finding a vacant bench nearby to plop themselves onto. Handing Olivier the deep fried dough, she leans herself against the cast iron backrest as she takes a sip out of the refreshing drink.

Olivier eyes the cinnamon goodness with reluctance, but she takes a small bite out of the footlong snack as its sweet aroma wafts over her. "Shit… this is delicious..." Counting calories aside, she takes a bigger bite. "Damn it, Riza. I gotta watch my figure...otherwise how do you expect me to chase after criminals?"

Her sister chuckles, nibbling on the straw end as she watches her sister take another mouthful bite of the crunchy piece. "I'm glad the sugar is making you feel better."

She scoffs, "Yeah, definitely. It would be even better if you'd buy me another one."

"I'll buy you another one, but before that... I have a question for you..." Gulping louder than she thought she would, Riza also feels her heartbeat quickening. Olivier shifts in her seat to face her agitated sister as she takes a small bite of the churro, eyeing her curiously. Riza merely stares at her cup intently. "I uh, got a job offer at a publishing company... And I want to know what you think about it..."

Olivier stops herself before biting into the rest of the fried snack, jaw hanging open from the anticipation of more sugar rush. "Okay. How's the work environment?"

Riza replies a little too quickly as she stares into the distance, "It's much friendlier than the current one..."

Her sister inquires further without hesitance as though she had prepared the questions beforehand, "Have you met your team? Do you like them?"

"So far yes. They're all very friendly and seem to be getting along with each other..." Her heartbeat starts to race even faster as she awaits for that one  _important_  question.

"Does it pay a lot?" _And here it comes._

Riza has been carefully stringing the answer to this question from the moment she left Maria's office, drilling each word into the back of her skull like a tattoo. But now that she has been broached the actual question, she can't help herself but feel moisture seeping from her palms. "Well umm… Not as much as now, but I promise I'll pull my weight on the rent payment and monthly bills. You can take the car everyday and I'll take the bus. It's about thirty minutes from our apartment. Oh and I'll save more money because they provide free lunch… and maybe I'll even stay after hours so I can eat dinner there, too..."

Olivier continues nonchalantly, "Do you want to work there?"

She pokes her lips with the straw, speaking quietly through the suction as she senses a nervous churn in her stomach. "...I do."

The lilt of her sister's voice remains casual, "Okay then, it sounds like you've already made up your mind about it."

Riza's eyes widen with disbelief, and she swiftly turns her whole body to face her sister's unconcerned form. "You're… giving me your blessing?"

Olivier narrows her eyebrows at her sister, scrutinizing her. "Why would you need my blessing?"

"Because… you usually care where I work and how much I make. It's surprising that you're letting me off the hook so easily… Not that I'm complaining..."

Sighing heavily, Olivier leans a shoulder on the backrest, trying to find a comfortable position. "If you had asked me that last year, I probably would have been harder on you..." Her finger involuntarily dawdles with the churro wrapper, making a crinkling noise each time she utters another confession. "But with Winry being back, and everything else that happened last year… I feel like I have been too harsh…" She smiles wistfully. "If I hadn't been so tough on Winry and left her alone back then, things could have been  _different_..."

"Liv, you can't keep blaming yourself for this…"

"I'm not. I'm just saying that I haven't been fair to both of you..." Olivier's gaze is downcast as she stares at the immaculate ground contemplatively. But when she finally tilts her head up, Riza can see sincerity in her eyes, a content smile on her face. "I need to remind myself that you're an adult now. You don't need big sister Olivier to protect you from those school bullies… or from your father..."

Riza stares at her sister, studying her solemn expression.

"I get too overprotective with you… I hated seeing you cry as a kid. It was heartbreaking…" She scoffs with disbelief, "And your dad was  _such_ a little bitch, so I wanted to put him in prison."

Riza chuckles lightly, "He was, wasn't he?" Taking small sips of the lemonade, her mouth curves into a knowing grin. "By the way, please don't get mad but I already accepted the job. It's good to know that I got your approval, though."

"Oh wow, Riza. I see how it is." Olivier's eyes widen with incredulity as she smacks her sister's shoulder playfully. They continue to talk about Riza's new position and her uncontainable excitement and her eccentric teammates, completely tuning out outside noises and ignoring scrutinizing stares as they laugh out loud, almost maniacally.

Companionable silence falls between them as their energetic conversation dwindles down, but a small smile lingers on Olivier's face as her attentive eyes fall upon the delightful faces of a family of four taking picture in front of the majestic Christmas tree. But the longer she observes the giddy family strike various poses in front the holiday decorations, her content expression slowly turns wistful. The family's little girl is jumping up and down with her arms raised high, begging her father to lift her up so she can touch the hanging ornament. The blonde girl looks positively happy even when her shoulder-length hair obstructs her grinning face, amber eyes widening as her father lifts her up into his arm.

The churro held in her hand is quickly forgotten as she perceives the girl's adorable gestures. The snack is now stale, slipping out of her hand as she reflexively loosens her grip, shattering her reverie as the cinnamon powder spatters all over her white shoes. Picking it up and tossing it into the trash can beside her, Olivier finally breaks the silence with an air of regret in her cadence, "Riza, can I tell you something stupid?"

Riza lifts her head to face her sister, "Hmm?"

"I never once wanted to have kids until I met Miles…" Her cheeks are set ablaze as she admits her hankering, and she quickly rubs her face with cold palms to hide the embarrassment. "I mean, it started as a fleeting thought… and then it turned into a serious consideration…" Olivier can feel the back of her skull burn as she tightly shuts her lids, suppressing hot tears from forming in her eyes. "...but now, he actually is having a baby with his wife… and that's why I broke it off with him..."

Riza's brows are raised high as she perceives her sister's confession, surprised expression across her face. "Oh Liv… I'm so sorry..." Wrapping a consoling arm around her sister, she gently leans her sister's head to rest on her shoulder.

Olivier purses her lips as she stifles the urge to cry. Instead, she mentally curses the stupid amber-eyed man with a string of Spanish expletives, convincing herself that she will move on from the anguish. She takes a deep breath, calming the sourness twisting in her stomach, assuring her sister with a firm tone, "It's okay. I'll get over it."

"I know you will." Riza brushes the length of her sister's hair, speaking confidently through her pile of blonde hair before kissing her head. "Do you want to go home? Get some rest?"

"No."

Riza stares at her with confusion, loosening her embrace. "No?"

Olivier pulls herself into an upright position, her appearance no longer showing signs of sadness but determination. Miles may have played a significant part in her life, but her confident self is certain she can carry on without his presence, just like how she had done before everything happened. A smug smile tugs the corner of her lips, mischievous eyes returning her sister's inquiring expression, and she challenges her sister with a playful tone, "No, we have to get on that ride one more time so I can beat your ass."

 

* * *

 

**Variety Building, Two Weeks Later, Friday, 4:43PM**

The radiant smile and the bouncing ponytail as she skips along the monochromatic corridor makes it seem like she's ready to burst into a dance. As she makes her way to his office for one last time, everything about her body feels light as a feather. She swears if she doesn't have her two-inch heels to anchor her to the ground, she will certainly float to the ceiling.

Her promise to him is finally fulfilled as she tightly clasped the fruition of their unpaid lunch hours and his clandestine after hour labor. The manila folder containing twelve signatures for the approval of the project he has been working for is safely stored within, with detailed timeline set to start within the next few weeks. As unfortunate as it is for her that she won't be there to witness the construction effort, she hopes thelittle piece of paper in her trouser pocket will ensure that she will receive  _first-rate_  update on this noble venture.

Entering his office with a firm knock on the frosted door, Riza's bouncy steps grabs his attention, prompting him to lift his head up to meet gleaming eyes across his messy desk.

Roy Mustang's expression lights up and a smile beams on his face, similar to the appearance of excited kids she saw at Disneyland a couple of weeks back. The upward curve across his lips quickly turns into a knowing grin, and she realizes he's relishing in his own success in keeping his promise to her. The two-week notice she submitted two Fridays ago had adorned his face with a similar delight. But now that her day is ending in a mere one and a half hour, he can't keep the broad Cheshire cat smile on his face. Slipping a furtive hand into her pants pocket, Riza fiddles with the ripped up note, feeling a skip in her heartbeat as she carefully lays the confidential file on his desk, wondering if his jovial expression is for the same reason as hers.

But she merely flashes him a friendly gaze, suppressing the urge to take his hand and pull him into a celebratory dance, reminding herself that she is still an employee until six o'clock strikes. She is quite certain, however, that the man can discern her excitement behind her professional mannerisms. "Here you go, sir. The result of your sleepless nights. Good luck with the implementation, I am sure you will do fine."

Opening the folder in front of him, he examines the signed paperwork before lifting his head back up at her. "Thank you, Riza."

"Good job on the presentation. Bradley will probably be stepping down soon, if not yet already. I don't think the board's too happy with how he has been spending their money."

The sheepish smile on his face can't possibly be more adorable. "We will miss having you at work, Riza. You have done a wonderful job managing my lazy bum."

"Thank you."

"Any last minute advice for me before you finish packing your things?"

And yet she can't help but tease him playfully as she fiddles with the piece of paper in her pocket, "Yes. Don't slack off, Roy. And don't give Rebecca too much of a hard time. She's not as patient as me."

"Ha-ha alright. Anything else, ma'am?"

Taking her hand out of her pocket, she crumples the note and conceals it from his view. "Your friends at the editorial building are very colorful, by the way… Especially Maes."

Gritting his teeth, he looks at Riza with reddening cheeks, shuffling uncomfortably in his executive chair. "What did that guy say…? Wait… Do I even want to know?"

"Well let's see…" She crosses her feet together as she plants an index finger on her lips. "He said you don't like talking about women... but when you do, you make fun of the ones you like."

His fingers tap at his desk incessantly, stammering an awkward laugh at his best friend's remark to her. "Uh, he said that, did he?"

She stifles a smirk on her face, tightening her jawline. "I guess I should feel flattered, then. Because you said I was boring  _and_  ugly."

He abruptly springs up from his chair, face flustered as he registers her statement. "Whoa whoa, I never said you were ugly..." Going around his wooden desk, he quickly closes the gap between them, trying  _really_  hard not to grab her hand as people walking past his office constantly glimpse inside through the glass partition.

If anyone had been witnessing their interaction, she is sure that they would have noticed the strange(sexual _)_  tension between them. But she further relaxes her usual stoicity as five o'clock draws near, resuming her relentless teasing of him, "So I'm not ugly, but you admit I'm boring?"

The slight discomfort on his face is worth every moment, successfully curling her lips into a smile before finally breaking her businesslike demeanor with an uncontainable giggle. But her quick-witted manager shoots her a smug smile as he leans his weight on the desk with one arm, smoothly countering her teasing, "You're  _far_  from boring, Riza, you know that."

She has to muster the strength to resist cupping his cheek as she melts at his handsome smirk. Instead, she collects herself, deflecting his reply with a curious inquiry, "You know, Vato mentioned that wanted to run for mayor. Is that true?"

"Is that what he said?" He chuckles lightheartedly. "Maybe I do eventually. Why?"

His answer sounds like the perfect cue to execute her  _other_  agenda, so she carefully brushes his warm hand and slips the wrinkled piece of note furtively in between his fingers. His expression is questioning as he fiddles with the torn paper, his gaze held at her face. Sensing a leap in her heart, she breathily whispers to him before he can turn his focus onto the memo, "Then if you'd like, perhaps I can keep you accountable until you become one..."

She gives him a small smile before disappearing from his office in as quickly as a tilt down of his head. Staring at the note curiously, he opens the piece of paper and reads the short scribble in his head over and over again, chuckling to himself as he feels a somersault in his stomach.

_Intercontinental. Rooftop Bar. 8pm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are now nearing the end (one more chapter and an epilogue), so I would like to say thank you to everyone who has been following the story so far, reviewing, commenting, favoriting, kudo-ing. I would not have made it this far without all of your support. <3


	15. so here we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now that we're at the end, I'm feeling a little sad lol (only an epilogue left). Thank you LadyAureliana, Beebop, ssadropout, WildSilence023, dvltgr, Lepaud, and blue_moon_wolf for reviewing the last chapter! Also, Mica ( thesilentwatcher), if you're reading this, I love the pic you drew based on the last scene with Royai. It's beautiful and I'm truly honored :') . Thank you.

**Spire 73, InterContinental Downtown, 7:40PM**

Wiping the wine glass in his hand, the bartender watches her with astonishment, his brows cocking high. "Doesn't it burn?"

The blonde woman nonchalantly pokes the unbitten lemon wedge on the napkin coaster, giving the inquiring man a weak smile. "Hmm? Oh no, this is how I like to take it..." Lying for the sake of answering, she can still taste the harsh flavor of the golden liquid coat her tongue, the scratchy feel in her throat as the spirit slips down her pipe and into her churning stomach. The inner masochist she never knew she had seeks the slight burn for the occasion, hoping to tame the nervousness wreaking havoc in her body.

"Another?"

"I need to slow down… what do you recommend?"

"We have the Dorian Gray. Gin, lime, pineapple, tarragon, passion fruit and rhubarb bitters. It's our most popular cocktail."

She chuckles at the reference. "Sure, that sounds good."

"Ahh… I'll take one, too, please..."

Her breath hitches at the familiar voice. She involuntarily twists her neck a little too quickly, feeling her shoulder muscle pull, and a dull ache perches just below the nape of her neck. "Roy! You're early…"

The flustered man lets out a small laugh, loosening his unkempt tie from its knot. "Same with you..."

Taking a mental observation, she furtively glances up and down his height, noting his jacket messily draped over his arm, his breathing erratic, coupled with the flushed cheeks against pale complexion. Her ex-manager looks like he climbed up the seventy three story building with zombies running after him. His dark locks are tousled more wildly than normal, and her ever observant hazel eyes notices the splash of mud on his otherwise immaculate black shoes.

But if Roy had been rushing to their meeting place, then Riza had teleported from her cramped work cubicle to the rooftop bar, because she is still wearing the knee-length dress skirt, feeling the unforgiving cold sting her skin and goosebumps forming on her bare legs. She's still pretty much dressed as if she had the comfort of the tiny space heater, which was constantly on and aimed directly at her bottom half. Arriving precisely forty five minutes prior apparently isn't enough time to buy some courage. Even after swallowing a variety of wine and tequila shots, she still can't find that fragment of relief to calm her palpitating heart.

"Here's your Dorian Gray, miss." The bartender pushes the frothy beverage towards Riza, and the other towards Roy. "And yours, sir." Swiping the cocktail and his credit card from the countertop, Roy gestures toward a private spot by the glass railing, with city light and the last leg of winter wind as their only accompaniments.

As Riza sips the bright yellow creation, the sweetness of the cocktail bursts in her mouth, drowning her taste buds in momentary bliss. But instead of relishing in the delectable flavor, her tongue won't stop searching for the concealed taste of alcohol, because the bitterness will keep her on her toes. It seems there's something strangely attractive about inflicting as much pain as possible tonight. "You know, I'm supposed to be treating you, not the other way around."

"Well, we're both celebrating tonight, so I have every right to buy you a drink." Raising his glass, his mouth quirks into a sincere smile. "Here's to your new job."

She chimes in smoothly, "And to the construction effort." An earnest smile graces her face as she clinks their glasses together. She takes a large gulp, however, hoping her fourth drink of the night will ease the jitters on her toes. Unable to escape from Roy's persistent gaze, she sloshes the liquid as a diversion, taking another gulp. Vanity is the last thing on her mind as she guzzles the rest of her cocktail, completely disregarding the ever glowing skyline of the City of Angels and opting for that buzzed sensation instead.

Trusting comes as easily for her as moving a mountain. But there's something about the ambitious director that coaxes her into the near impossible. She doesn't know what it is other than a mere gut feeling, which hasn't been relied on much in the past (but probably should have). Perhaps it's how well they work together, or how they seem to possess some kind of a telepathic power when they're around each other, communicating simply with a bat of an eye or a twitch of their lip. Or maybe it's because she just loves absolutely everything about him, starting with his dorky personality expertly concealed behind a charismatic professional demeanor, further validated by how much the man adores his Aunt and adopted sisters, which resonates properly with her own background.

"Have you had dinner already, Riza?"

"I had a little bit of bar food when I got here, but worry not, because I actually have dinner planned for us…" Fiddling with the hem of her blazer, she looks up to meet adoring eyes, which reflexively quirks her lips into a half moon. "You must be hungry if you asked. Do you want to eat?"

He smirks mischievously, and Riza can see the innocence of her question translates into impurity his eyes. "Well, that depends  _what's_  on the menu." Seeing Riza's expression turn unamused in an instant, the teasing man can't restrain a delighted laugh as he gathers his serious side. "Okay, sorry. Yes, I am hungry, but before that, can I say something first?"

Arcing one eyebrow, she muses, "Yes?"

"I miss you, Riza." There is no hesitation in his lilt, the words flowing so freely and naturally now that all obstacles have been overcome.

If she has been actively trying to inebriate herself, then Roy's declaration only makes her want to collect all sobriety. Because in that moment, Riza can feel her stomach performing backflips and her heart a pirouette. And she wants to hear those words again. Her cheeks are further set ablaze as a sheepish tug pulls on his lips, softening the rest of his features.

"Roy, come with me…?" Her command sounds more like a question as she springs up from her seat without warning, throwing him a small smile that doesn't quite settle in her eyes.

He complies nonetheless.

A mysterious aura accompanies them to the fifty fifth floor, because to Roy, she seems to get enjoyment out of keeping him in the dark. She doesn't utter a single word throughout the elevator ride, supplying absolutely no hints as to what she has in store for him. And when they arrive at the brightly lit corridor with floor-to-ceiling doors, Roy's mind starts to wonder if the secretive woman is trying to solicit the  _deed_  - not that he would mind. But the only indication that it may not be  _that_  is the weight of her agitation when her heels fall on the carpeted floor, sounding almost dragged, like she's treading through mud. The burden is confirmed when her finger accidentally brushes his, feeling that sudden jolt of electricity she has accumulated from the friction of her shoes against acrylic fibers.

Tapping the key card on the lock, the door creaks open in a crescendo, and a cart full of fancy room service food appears in the center as she flips on the light switch. Riza takes suspenseful steps toward the contemporary room, eyes scrutinizing the jutting embellishments on the king-sized bed, full of red rose petals and heart-shaped bath towels. Picking up the note placed on the mattress, she senses the tips of her ears burn hot as she confirms her suspicion. She really should have clarified with the front desk that "celebrating the start of a new journey" does not mean "enjoy your honeymoon", because that is precisely what the card says.

"You're hungry right? Shall we eat?" Turning around quickly, she flashes him a wide grin as an attempt to conceal her embarrassment behind feigned excitement.

Roy's steps are reluctant as he enters the room, but there's an unmistakable sign of appreciation in his demeanor. "Riza, this must be expensive. You didn't have to do all of this..." He takes another step, more confident this time, and quickly closes the gap between them in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, she becomes much too aware of their close proximity by the way his body heat radiate on her skin, shivering her when the room can hardly keep the bucket of ice from melting.

His grateful gaze lingers on hers, the barely there smile and the soft hitch of breath - they all travel down her esophagus, settling in the pit of her stomach comfortably like a brightly lit bonfire, prompting her to stammer an involuntary answer as she becomes enchanted by his spell. "I… want to… do this..."

Still unable to look away, she bites her bottom lip in defeat when he laces his fingers with hers, the heat of his skin setting her cheeks on fire. He leans his head forward, and her heart stops when she catches a whiff of his aftershave. Avoiding his kiss is the last thing on her mind, but she has to stop it before further disappointment comes settling in.

"Is something wrong... Riza?"

"Roy…" She grits her teeth as she stares at his heartbroken expression. "Can I… Can I trust you with my back?"

She doesn't wait for his answer as she swiftly turns her back towards him, creating a small distance between them. Slipping through her buttons with trembling hands, she hesitantly drops her blazer to pool at her feet. Riza then untucks the hem of her blouse from the constricting skirt before loosening the cotton material over her shoulders.

Roy's expression is stunned, suspending a gaping mouth and wide eyes, as he tries to analyze her purported proposition. In his eyes, her action is suggestively teasing as she holds the garment above her shoulder blades, exposing only a few inches of porcelain skin. But what Roy doesn't know is that dropping the rest of the fabric would expose him to her disturbing past, one that warrants a million of questions.

With a tight squeeze of her eyelids, she surrenders all inhibitions and drops her decency onto the carpeted floor, hoping her intuition for trusting him doesn't let her down. All she has to do now is wait. Wait in inescapable silence as she listens for the shuffling sound of his feet, and the slamming of door that is sure to follow.

As Roy stares at the lines of red welts and angry scars, his shocked appearance is further exaggerated. A stampede of wild emotions reside in his chest, unraveling bouts of chaos. His perplexed sight is tethered to her disfigured back, and he can clearly see the raging fury rope him in as he studies the different shapes and sizes of her blemishes, some looking older than others, discerning how painful each one must have felt when it was inflicted.

Sensing his inaction, she mutters awkwardly as she feels her heart sink to her stomach, "I hope… I'm not scaring you with the marks… I know they're unattractive and not exactly easy to look at… But it's always going to be a part of me… I just thought you should know..."

Roy believes no amount of words can perfectly describe his answer to her revelation. Instead, he falls into place behind her, quickly removing the air of uncertainty between them as he slides reassuring arms around her rigid frame, clasping his hands together just below her breastbone. In silence, he doesn't dismiss the slight twitch of her mouth and the raise of thin hairs on her arms as she perceives his gesture. He then brushes his lips over her earlobe to her pulsing neck, traversing the chasteness down her stiff shoulder, before eventually resting adoring kisses over the span of raised scars on her upper back.

Releasing her hitched breath, Riza resurfaces from the agonizing suspense as the heat of his body alone burns the clinging doubt in her mind. She wades through the memories of tormented youth - pushing aside the image of her deranged father from the back of her mind, abandoning her parasitic fear of rejection - until finally, she gains a semblance of acceptance through his gentle ministrations of her imperfections.

With a shuddering hand still blanketing his, she turns around to face the unflinching man with a look of ecstasy and reciprocates his tenderness. While reveling in his resolute gaze, Riza impatiently crumbles the bridge between their lips, molding the hollow of his mouth with hers, pulling him into a fervent kiss that throbs with passion every time she breaks it apart. After each gasp for air, Roy would faithfully rescue her lips from the ache, covering them again and again with unwavering affection.

When they briefly stop, Riza gives him an approving nod, which he returns with a knowing look. With a craving for the unexplored shrouding the air around them, she slides steady fingers down his shirt, loosening each button until it reveals the man beyond her wildest dreams. Roy aids her as she unzips the rest of her obstructing garments before ridding himself of his. Tangling her arms around his neck, she finds his firm hands on the dips of her waist, fitting perfectly against the curves of her body. Instinctively, they reunite their reddening lips once again as they tumble onto the bed, eager to venture the uncharted territories, losing themselves in euphoria at the discovery of intimacy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Off-Campus Housing, Los Angeles, Three Months Later, Spring Break**

A combination of pastel teal and rich gold are strewn about the floor, satin ribbons snake the singled out dining chair haphazardly, and handmade invitations are piling atop the sofa cushion like mounds of ants nest. Perfectly sized translucent tapes spike along the edges of the disorganized coffee table, and each time Ed forgetfully rests his arm against the glass, he peels away with more than annoyance on his face. At a glance, Alphonse and Mei's living room is the image of an inevitable shipwreck.

Despite all the mayhem, the atmosphere in the tiny space is warm as a sea of sunlight pours into the untidy space, the brightness outlining the excitement of wedding planning and the half moons on their faces. Winry is leaning on her elbows, her stomach lying flat like a wooden plank, a tub of slightly melted cookies and cream long forgotten as her hand scribbles a list of names. The anxiety of spending the rest of her life with Edward is constantly at the forefront of her mind, but it doesn't always reach her features as she occupies herself with the daunting tasks.

The grooves on her forehead is wavy as she examines the invitation list. With a pen in her mouth, Winry decidedly scrawls an additional name onto the stamped envelope, inserting another RSVP card before licking the glue. "Lan Fan and Ling will only need one invitation."

"But… they're two separate people."

"Save an envelope. She'll see it anyway."

Totally clueless, Edward gives her a curious look. "What? I don't get it."

She sighs defeatedly, and the inflection of her voice is half amused half annoyed, "Because if you've paid attention at all through high school, you know that they have a thing for each other…" Staring at his blank expression, she paints the fact loud and clear, "Ed, they like each other, and they still do!"

Waving his hand in a surrender pose, he answers apologetically, "Okay okay, sorry! It's just not as obvious to me…" Contemplatively, he straightens his posture as he feels the signs of aging on his lower back. Massaging the tightness, his windpipe elicits a loud groan, unintentionally announcing his exhaustion. "...Let's move on to wedding party."

"I've already asked both of my sisters and Paninya. Who did you ask?"

"Al, obviously, and Ling…"

With a stern expression she looks him directly in the eyes, detecting a slight reluctance in the golden irises. "One more person, Ed."

Ed gulps as his voice lodges in his throat, feeling quite embarrassed with what he's about to announce, even when he knows he shouldn't be. "...and I asked Mustang."

Her demeanor curls into acknowledgment, but the line on her mouth is borderline smug as her eyes declare to the world with an 'I knew it'. With a purse of the lips and prominent cheekbones on display, Winry squeals lightheartedly, just like when she stares at cute puppy photos on Tumblr. "Aww, I knew you guys are close! Riza was right, and I was right, of course."

The narrowing of his eyes and the irritated pout of his mouth betray him, because his cheeks flush red at the admission. "Don't get me wrong. I just want to make sure your sister has someone to walk in with..."

"I'm not trying to embarrass you, Ed. Whoever you chose, I'm sure you chose that person for the right reasons." An endearing smile curves her mouth, and the muted gaze catches Edward by the sideways.

The flustered man is no longer flustered as he takes in her affection. The rest of her soft appearance translates into a tug of his heart, reminding him now and again how lucky he is to have her by his side.

Smiling contently in return, Edward ghosts a kiss on his fiancée's mess of golden hair, muttering under his breath, "I knew I'm marrying the right girl." Tangling his fingers in her locks, he drifts his lips onto her forehead, brushing a gentle kiss there, too. "I think we're finally done for the day, yeah? Let's clean up."

Before Ed can pull himself upright, Winry hastily grabs his wrist. There's something significant about the way she lingers her sight at him, almost as if she's pleading when a sparkle of uncertainty dances in her eyes. And just like that, seemingly under a spell, he dutifully lowers himself beside her.

"Ed…" She trails off when her confidence is lost in her voice.

In silence, he blankets her hand warmly, squeezing just light enough to provide a semblance of assurance.

Finding her tone, Winry asserts firmly, almost in a schooling manner, "I have no doubt that you want to marry me, but you do know that I'm never going to get over  _it_  completely, right? I want to lay out the fine details for you, because you will be stuck with me forever."

Nevertheless, her unyielding timbre frays when a sudden thought of disappointing Edward coats a sour taste in her mouth. "Ed... There will be moments where I won't be feeling entirely  _normal_. There will be some days where it's harder than others..."

But her voice quickly strains a playful tone when she feels the air take a depressing turn, "On another note, that asshole plead guilty, so that makes me feel so much better!" A small laugh escapes her lips, but the same sentiment never reaches her eyes.

Ed muses incredulously as to why the first thought that enters his mind is how his estranged father coaxed his mother into the eternal vow. How the hell did the old man do it? Undeserving though he was, there must be something that his mother found endearing to agree to marry such an irresponsible man. Growing up with less than ideal male figures, Ed only had the wisdom of his brother and few trusted schoolmates to rely on when it came to comforting a girl. Ling, for example. Ed doesn't even want to think about what his best friend would say; his words are probably just as stupid as his own. He also isn't Mustang, who Ed is certain about that every consolation that comes out of his mouth is poetry and lines from romance novels, judging by how much in love Riza is with him. Then there's Al. But he can't relate, because flowery words were never his friend anyway, and everything that Al spits out is like a garden in the spring.

Clearing his throat, his wandering thumb perches atop Winry's gold band, caressing the grooves where diamond meets metal at the same time his soft eyes meet her nervous ones. "If you're having a hard day, then I'll make it easier."

"How?"

His gaze is held on her. "I'll listen to you."

"What if I don't want to talk to you? What if I slam the door on you?"

Coiling his fingers around hers, he can feel the slight tremor in her hand going away as he fortifies it with his own. "I'll swipe my arm at you from under the door, like Al's imaginary cat. Just so you know that I'm there if you need me."

Instinctively, she absorbs the warmth of his skin when her calloused hands rub against soft palms. "What if I swat your arm and tell you to go away?"

"I'll serenade you from behind the door."

Growing up with an appreciation for the in-tunes, she giggles with amusement. "Your singing voice is god-awful, Ed."

"Good. That means you're going to come out of the room and tell me to shut the fuck up."

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you?"

An adorable grin crosses his lips, stretching up to meet the lines of his eyes. And in that moment she can see tenacity dancing in his gaze, swaying her fears and anxiety. Beyond anything else, it twists the intimidation of forever together into one of trust, and Winry can do nothing else but relent, letting glee catch in her throat. Edward then gathers her face in tender hands, and the softness of his expression courses heat through her limbs, solidifying her frame like Midas's touch of gold. Then, like magnetized pieces their mouths pull together in unison, colliding a warm kiss above fluttering hearts.

"Never."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Armstrong Residence, End of Spring Break, 10:35PM**

When they were younger, their parents had told the children that they would take time off to go camping as a family. But when Winry was finally less afraid of sleeping in natural darkness without the aid of the hallway fluorescent light, Olivier had been too occupied in her high school curriculum to spare the time. Then the following year Riza's adoption process had started, and whatever seemed to be the perfect weekend for a night under the stars would almost always flitter away like a broken-winged butterfly, one week after another, until months rolled by. The next thing they knew, their parents had gone from their lives, their livelihood scattered between two separate states, and the childhood promise of camping has become a mere spectral presence.

Until tonight.

Thin bed sheet stretches above their heads, creating a scant distance for the three occupants to sit upright. Right through the middle of the linen material runs a tightly knotted macrame strings, each end tied to opposing bookcases, which simultaneously serve to fortify their makeshift tent. The three women had removed all of their pillows from the confines of their mattresses to cozy up their triangular fort, the cushion spread against the wall of books and alongside the hem of the quilted blanket underneath their feet. All lights in the room have been switched off save for the battery-run lantern just outside of their teepee, substituting for the missing campfire.

"The little girl kept begging her mother to believe her. 'Mom, believe me, please! I'm not telling lies!', she would say. But her mother insisted that she was just seeing an imaginary friend, which was normal for someone her age." Riza grabs the flashlight to her right, appreciating the coldness of the metal on her skin, and she waves the maglight around in the air. "Until one day, Madeline decided that enough was enough. So she ventured to the red room with a flashlight in hand. Her father had been away on business trip, and her mother was sound asleep in the bedroom downstairs..."

Winry clasps her hand in anticipation, eyes bulging in suspense. The half empty bucket of popcorn beside her is promptly ignored. "What a brave little girl…"

Olivier interjects with eyes half lidded, seemingly bored out of her mind, but Winry and Riza know that she has never been a fan of horror stories, "She's not brave, she's stupid. If I were her, I would wake my mom up and drag her ass to the red room with me. This is exactly what one should  _not_  do."

Shushing her harshly, Winry whispers with an airy voice, "Your logic is killing the story, Liv. At least let me enjoy the rest of the story." Nudging Riza lightly on the arm, her little sister presses for her to resume her ghostly tale.

In a moment's notice, eerie silence permeates the air once again, and the two sisters can hear a slight uncomfortable grunt in Olivier's throat.

"So... The little girl ventured to the red room. And then she quickly flicked on her flashlight, darting it from one corner to the other in a swift motion, left to right, left to right. But she saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. No ghosts, no old lady, nothing."

A tiny, unsolicited squeal escapes Winry's mouth as the budding thrill of Madeline's sinister adventure continues. Olivier simply sits mutely with arms wrapped over her chest, but a cursory glance to the sliver in between the opening of the tent doesn't bypass Riza, whose piercing eyes are suspensefully rested on her older sister.

Gripping the flashlight in her hand, Riza's thumb treads along the maglight, stopping in its track as it finds the padded on and off switch. "And Madeline kept walking around the small space, flashing her lights again and again onto the same corners, but she only saw spiderwebs and dust and a collection of old books against the wall. But then she heard a screech… and it was getting louder and louder by the second..."

"Oh my god…"

"Tch."

"And then Madeline thought she finally understood. She couldn't find the old lady in the dirty, stuffy, red room, because that wasn't where she lived. The gears in her mind clicked, and she flashed the bright light toward the ceiling, and then she looked up…"

Suddenly, Riza looks up at the bedspread above her, clicking the flashlight on at the same time she screams at Olivier's face. "The old lady lives ABOVE HER!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" Olivier's palms are now completely soaked, and her palpitating heart matches the rapid heave of her breathing. All logics aside, Riza's ghost stories never fail to terrify her shitless, which her two sisters find funny considering the scary reality of her job.

A playful smile curls on Riza's lips. "You like that story, Olivier?"

The sarcasm in her eyes is in tone with her voice, "Ha-ha, thanks Riza. That was  _great_..."

In the same moment, Winry is laughing her ass off at her oldest sister's comical expression. The incessant feet taps tell the room the amusement she finds in it all. Olivier nonchalantly cradles the bucket of popcorn, concealing her embarrassment behind each crunch. But the fun they're having is not lost in the room as evidenced by the amicable grins on their faces.

Tossing a handful of kettle corn into her mouth, Olivier inquires curiously, "How's your job, Riza?"

"Great, actually. I miss Rebecca and Jean a lot, but the hours are much better, and the people are great. And what's best is that it doesn't feel like work sometimes."

Olivier's hand fiddles with the rim of the bucket as she replies, "But you stay at work so late though. How are the hours better?"

Smiling sheepishly, she admits, "Ahh... that's because Maes likes to keep me after work to  _interrogate_  about Roy. And sometimes it takes a couple hours. And it gets worse when Roy visits..."

"Oh god. Garfiel does the same to me about Ed, but maybe not to that extent," agrees Winry, dipping a hand into the popcorn bucket and tossing them in her mouth one by one. Cocking her eyebrows playfully at Riza, Winry can't stifle a mischievous grin on her face. "But I take it things are going great with Roy?"

Without having to answer, Winry and Olivier can clearly discern her pinked cheeks in the dancing flicker of the lantern. Her flushing is contagious, however, because the two sisters feel the warmth spread through their bodies, and they relentlessly tease their middle sister with silly giggles that seem to hold no significance other than to fluster her further.

"Hey Liv, would you get mad if I seat you next to Izumi's friend Mason at the wedding?"

Casually, she replies, but her detective ears are attuning for the meaning behind the question, "I wouldn't get mad, Winry. And Izumi might have mentioned a Mason before. But why is he invited?"

"Remember when you told us Izumi needed extra help with her shop because she was too pregnant to do it? Well Mason was the guy she hired, and Ed and I met him during our shift and struck a conversation. And now the three of us are good friends." A sly smile crosses Winry's lips, and it's conveyed in her tone. "Apparently he's single  _and_  ready to mingle."

This time it's Riza's turn to elicit a reflexive giggle, but the same amusement doesn't reach Olivier as she waves off the matchmaking casually, "I don't know, Winry. Is he a cop? He and I probably won't work out ..." But without missing a beat, an absurd grin adorns her face as she adds jokingly, "...because my preference seems to be leaning towards guys in uniforms. You might need to give him a dress code before your wedding day."

Tearful laughter turns into smiles until it dwindles completely into companionable silence. In an instant, what seems like mere minutes of catching up has turned into a full hour, and the heavy air of the night gradually sails each of them adrift into dreamland. Being the closest to the lantern, Winry dims the artificial light, muting the space into an ideal sleepover. But left ajar, the sliding glass window in the living room is what precipitates the three sisters into a lull, beginning with a harmonious spring breeze that enters through the opening of the tent, ending with the faint chirps of cicadas singing by the windowpane.

Olivier's cotton pajama nuzzles Winry's sleepy head, and their youngest sister yawns onto her big sister's lap, closing her eyes to the world. "I'm getting tired… it's been a long day."

Patting her little sister's hair, Riza's affectionate gaze extends to her gentle strokes. She looks up at Olivier with a wistful expression as the promise of family camping unfolds from the recesses of her mind, her fingers pensively weaving through Winry's golden strands. "I kind of wish mom and dad were here with us… to see us all under this tent."

Nostalgia hangs in between them, and Riza's sad eyes echo into Olivier's timbre, "Yeah. When we finally had the closest thing to a camping trip…"

Winry's wandering hand finds the comfort of Olivier's pajama as she burrows it underneath her cheek, the restful lines of her eyelids still firmly drawn as she lets out another small yawn. But the melancholy suspended above them doesn't deny the drowsy woman her own recollection of her parents. "I don't remember the last time the five of us were together. It must've been like a decade ago. Before you moved away for college, Liv..."

Resting a soothing touch over Winry's arm, Olivier whispers into the air, "I think you're right, Winry. That was the last time."

A small smile curves on Winry's lips, and it doesn't escape Olivier's and Riza's attentive gaze. "But imagine how happy they would be if they could see us right now, not yelling or arguing or fighting like that one year in front of their graves..."

Riza scoots herself beside Olivier, leaning sleepy head against sturdy shoulder, finding solace in the caresses of her neckline. Sliding a supportive arm around her sister's waist, she can feel Olivier's back relax against it, feeling her even breaths on her skin as Riza's mouth curves upward in serene. "Mmm… they're probably celebrating right now, toasting with wines and everything."

Winry chimes in sleepily, but the smile doesn't leave her inflection, "I can see them high five-ing each other, big grins on their faces."

Riza's fond chuckle reverberates along the bed sheet, "That's a nice picture you're painting, Winry."

"Mmm… Isn't it?"

"It is."

"So here we are, together again after four years." Winry's voice trails off as the night overtakes, but the delight in her lilt remains in the air, setting the tone for a peaceful slumber.

In dormant silence, Olivier's hand finds the outline of Riza's arm, and she gathers it there, protecting her languid frame from slipping downward. Her other hand meets Winry's back, guarding her sleeping form, soft caresses drifting her little sister to deep sleep surely and steadily. A lullaby of calm breaths and body heat cradles the night, and Olivier can feel her consciousness slowly succumbing to the tranquility as she rests her head against the pillar of pillows. Taking comfort in the warm embrace, Olivier's content smile captures the moment, turning it into an unforgettable memory before finally joining her sisters in repose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: One brief-ish epilogue coming up <3\. Thank you for reading. I'd be very happy if you let me know what you think :)


	16. now & here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are finally at the end! This is by far the longest series I have ever written in my entire life, so I would like to express my gratitude to **everyone** who has kudo'ed, reviewed, bookmarked, followed, favorited, drawn, and reblogged, because all of you have kept me going. Thank you so so much you wonderful readers you! T_T

**Six Months Later, End of Summer, 5:03PM**

_This is it. This is the moment._

As the blonde-haired man turns to face the love of his life, the trailing stares from the guests follow. In his nervous state, each set of piercing eyes gnaw at his skin like a nest of mice nibbling on a chunk of cheese. Another minute or so, the unwanted attention would probably swallow him whole. While he isn't one to crave attention, Edward is never one to shy away from it. But in this moment, at the pinnacle of tonight's event, his only reprieve is the occasional distraction of waves crashing against cliffs from down below.

"May I have the rings please?"

In one practiced motion, Ed's younger brother swoops in with a pair of gold bands. Plucking them carefully from his palm, Mei winks at Alphonse appreciatively before turning back towards the couple. "Edward, place this ring on Winry's finger and repeat after me: This ring is a symbol of my promise-"

With sweat-soaked hands, the ponytailed groom slips the symbol of forever on Winry's ring finger as instructed, stammering anxiously, "Um… This ring is my… promise to you..."

Mei flicks Edward a mindful glance. "-and commitment  _to you_ -"

"...my daily commitment to you…"

A curious smile behind tulle veil catches his trembling voice. But instead of chastising him with a look, Winry retains the crescent moon on her face and gently squeezes his hand, holding his world together.

"-a  _daily reminder_  of my love for you."

"...you're my daily reminder of my love for you..."

Turning her attention to the bride with a light chuckle, Mei hands Winry the smaller gold band. "Winry, please place this ring on Edward's finger and repeat after me: This ring is a symbol of my promise and commitment to you-"

"This ring is a symbol of my promise and commitment to you…"

"-a daily reminder of my love for you."

"...a daily reminder of my love for you."

As rehearsed, Edward lifts the veil over her head. Shaky hands and butterflies aside, the propinquity since childhood culminates in the vision of his beautiful bride. Suddenly, all of his jitter-infused speech seems to matter little. Because in that moment, there is only him and her.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now ki-"

The last fragment of nervousness has only tightened its grip, Edward decides, because he finds his lips wreaking havoc all on their own. When he seals the promise of a lifetime a little too eagerly, Winry's blue, glimmering eyes widen like a deer in a headlight. The kiss has caught her entirely by surprise. Although she eventually reciprocates (and with an adorable grin, too), deafening gasps from the guests abruptly set his cheeks on fire, matching the shades of red bouquets in the bridesmaids' hands.

But thank heavens for Edward's best friend, because Ling evidently possesses an all-seeing power. Crushing the discomfort without missing a beat, he claps and whistles obnoxiously the moment he notices his friend's little blunder, pointing the awkwardness onto him instead. The rest of the wedding party follows suit soon after, and the unpleasant silence is instantly replaced by an eruption of cheers from the audience.

 

* * *

**One hour ago…**

Where Winry is concerned, freshly manicured lawn below a rose-covered pergola has always been a far-fetched dream. Even more so are the rows of bowtied chiavari chairs, which are lined neatly in two columns like well-behaved children. Then there's flower petals laid atop grassy pathway for her watteau train to track behind. Behind the ceremonial ground is the outdoor reception area complete with overhead string lights to paint the nighttime dusky sky. Everything in front of her is a fairy tale wedding out of a Disney movie. The only thing missing from this picture perfect matrimony would be singing animals.

Winry has always been a simple woman. Not in the simple-minded type of way, but in the modest way where riches are not inappropriately flaunted. But when Roy's friend offered Point Fermin Lighthouse as her wedding venue free of charge, she tossed aside austerity in a single heartbeat.

Still. No matter how flawless everything looks from where she stands, aesthetic alone can't steady her pounding heart. Fanning herself incessantly, Winry rises to stand and paces around the changing room, creaking the floorboards below her. "Ladies! Help me!"

Her two sisters fly to her side in an instant, her best friend in tow right behind them. "What happened?!" says the three in unison.

"Oh god, oh god. How many minutes until the ceremony?!" The length of her gown is mopping the floor, and the attentive Riza bundles the fabric in her arms. Curiously enough, the room next door where the groom and his men are preparing is emitting a similar ruckus.

"Calm down, Winry. You have precisely forty-five minutes. Plenty of time," Olivier answers sensibly and confidently. But as her oldest sister bites her bottom lip with an unsettling look, Winry realizes there is no way in hell she will calm down. As good as her sister is at her detective job, marriage is a different beast altogether and something she has no experience with.

"Don't freak out, Winry! You'll be fine!" Paninya comforts her (or tries to). But one second later her equally panic-stricken face is on display for Winry to see.

Pulling her hair from agitation is the first thing on her mind as she retraces her circular steps. But Winry's best decision comes when she turns around to face her middle sister.

Riza is not particularly religious, but Winry swears that she had been a nun or a monk in a past life. Because her composed demeanor eases her worries in an instant. Then, a simple touch from her further lulls the tension in her body from head to toe. A genuine smile blooms on Riza's face, and she rubs reassuring circles on Winry's back. "Edward loves you, Winry. Everything will be alright, I promise."

 

* * *

 

**Two hours ago…**

Olivier tries. She really does. But her resting bitch face often gets in the way, especially during anxiety-prone days like today where she prefers the sole company of oxygen. They haven't even spoken for more than five minutes and already she can see doubt stamped on her forehead. But after taking Izumi's matchmaking effort into consideration (and also Winry's past intention of seating them together), the dolled up bridesmaid relents. She even entertains the idea of making small talks with the man.

Personality aside, Mason's broad chest doesn't elude her appreciative eyes. Izumi's assistant literally steps out of a cover of Men's Fitness magazine. Even with his grey suit fully covering the well-muscled body, Olivier can clearly outline the pecs on his abdomen. His dark hair is tousled attractively by the wind, and with sun-kissed complexion to boot, Olivier thinks that maybe she can tap that ass once and then ditch.

"So, I heard from Winry you're a detective. That sounds like a wonderful career choice," his tone is unmistakably sincere, but Olivier's trained ears unconsciously detect for feigned interest.

"Well, I suppose it's not a bad job. I enjoy helping people when I can."

He acknowledges with a nod. "And what do you like to do for fun?"

"Pardon?"

"What are your hobbies?" the man rephrases with a smile that can melt any woman's heart. But Olivier isn't any woman.

"Ahh, I go to the shooting range every now and then. I also spar with Izumi. She's great at that."

"What about fairs? Do you like going to them? You know, deep fried twinkies, carnival games, that sort of thing?"

Without warning, a certain white-haired man with amber eyes flares in her mind. Before they broke up, Miles had promised to take her to the County fair once summer rolls around. Unfortunately, the opportunity never came, and months came and went until all was completely forgotten. But she grits her teeth and draws the line between past and present. Flashing Mason a wide smile, Olivier replies, "I haven't gone since I was a kid, but that sounds fun."

 

* * *

 

**Three hours ago...**

Her mother. That's the first thing she thinks about when she smells the distinct scent of the ocean. A wisp of the lovely woman's face flickers from memory, and she thinks back to the time when she starts associating the two together.

She was Riza's favorite person in the world; the best mother anyone could ask for. Except the last few months of the young mother's life was spent recovering from a strange bout of breathing issues. One snowy winter day, the day after school commenced from winter break, Riza found her mother collapsed on the floor. One neglectful father and two internet articles later, teenage Riza decided that the beach air was the most cost-effective solution to her mother's ailment. That year alone she went to the beach twice a day with hopes worn on her sleeve. But all of her neighbors knew how that ended. The salty air never healed her mother.

To many people the association may seem unpleasant. But it is precisely that smell that allows Riza to hang onto the best memories of her mother. And while she's here sniffing nostalgia, the man beside her tucks a stray lock behind her ear and jolts her out of reverie. He locks soft and gentle eyes on her, his tone mimicking his gaze, "You look beautiful, Riza. And that dress is amazing..."

Weaving her fingers through his, Riza gradually collapses the distance between them. "Okay Roy, out with it. What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

That smolderingly handsome smirk never fails to weaken her legs. "So... our one year anniversary is in three months, but honestly I don't know how long I can wait before asking..."

"Ask me what?"

But Roy's friend Maes seems to teleport out of nowhere, teasing the couple mercilessly, "Goddamit guys, there's kids around! And get a room already! My teeth hurt just watching you two!"

Roy irritatingly waves him off, shooting a murderous look toward the man. "Shit, Maes! Thanks for ruining the moment!"

But when the spectacled-man walks away, he flashes Roy a knowing wink, which prompts Riza to knit her brows.

"What was  _that_  about?" she questions curiously.

His gaze falls to the ground. "Oh nothing. It's nothing…" Looking down at her, he deflects, "Want to check up on Edward?"

 

* * *

 

**Four hours ago...**

"Oh, you're so precious!" Rebecca squeals. The telling look she shoots her boyfriend is anything but discreet.

Jean stammers an awkward answer, "Uhm… I think we should get married first before we make  _that_ , don't you think?"

But the brunette ignores him, picking the baby up from the stroller and into her arms. "Jeyne, your dress is so adorable! The same color as your auntie Riza and Liv's!"

Riza whispers into the blonde man's ear, "Jean, give her what she wants before she throws a fit, 'kay?" When a shade of panic washes over his face, Riza mischievously winks at the man, amusedly observing his unmoving form.

"I'm glad you three can make it," Olivier greets Izumi and Sig with a small smile. "Jeyne is pretty calm today."

"Liv, here. Take her." Rebecca promptly hands Jeyne over to the unexpecting woman, resuming to play with the cooing baby in Olivier's arms.

Stiffly, Olivier cradles the baby, throwing the mother a look of uncertainty. "Izumi, let's hope I don't drop her..."

"You won't drop her. Every woman has a motherly instinct," her friend replies with a chuckle.

But the longer Olivier holds the baby, the more comfortable she becomes. At one point, having the little human in her arms feel  _almost_ natural. Unbidden smile forms on her face, and the smell of baby powder elicits an excitable chuckle out of her.

Izumi must have noticed the joy on Olivier's face, because she conveniently wraps a scheming arm around her shoulder and whispers in her ear, "I have someone I want you to meet today. His name's Mason."

"Mason? Ah yeah, Winry mentioned him a while back." Eyeing Izumi suspiciously, Olivier adds, "you think he's good for me, don't you?"

"I think it can work. Meet him and see for yourself. Okay, Liv?"

"I'm in a good mood today, so I'll think about it."

 

* * *

 

**Five hours ago…**

When the short stature older lady arrives in a two-piece long dress elegant enough to greet British royalty, Winry swears she's going to fall on her face as her four-inch heels sprint towards the woman. The family-appointed guardian is as good a mother to the young bride-to-be. That is why Pinako Rockbell is unanimously given the mother of the bride role in today's special occasion.

Gently taking the old woman by the arm, Winry leads the recently recovered woman inside the lighthouse, seating her on the most comfortable chair she could find. "I hope Al's driving isn't too rough. I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up myself..."

"Don't worry. Al's driving was as good as your father's…" Laughing out loud, Pinako adds, "...which is to say, it's not good  _at all_." Even in her fragile state, the woman is glowing as radiant as ever. Winry suspects it's from the joyous event. Inside her purse is a neatly wrapped gift the size of a vinyl record, and with her free hand she pulls it out. "This is for you, Winry. It's not much, but I think you will appreciate it."

Words cannot describe the delight brewing in her stomach as she flips through the yellowing photos within the leather bound album. Recognizing the photos from her childhood, Winry suddenly remembers why she begged for earrings as a child: her extremely short haircut made her look like a boy.

Winry has expected tears to cascade today, but she doesn't expect them to come so soon. A drop of moisture trickles down her face, and just like that she can already hear curses coming from her makeup artist. But what's presented in front of her hits her with a wave of nostalgia. And in between the memories of her younger years, she realizes how wonderful her life has been.

When she flips to the end of the album, she stumbles upon a family photo: her sisters in college, nine year-old Winry with a wide grin on her face, and her parents in mechanic gear. She can't be bothered with remembering who took the photo, because the drop of tear quickly becomes a stream of waterfall. By now she is absolutely certain her makeup artist will scream expletives at her.

 

* * *

 

**Point Fermin Lighthouse Reception, 8:35PM**

Riza hasn't been to many weddings. Perhaps four or five in her entire life, and most of them were ones she attended when she was a child. She has never understood why many couples spend an exorbitant amount of money for a full day of hectic schedules and less than fulfilling meals. The concept of happily ever after may have borne a romantic, young Riza. But as she grew older, the idea rolled away by the tide until it eluded her completely.

But now that she's here at her sister's wedding, the romantic in her reawakens. Observing the tangles of blonde locks a few feet away, Riza's contented eyes fall upon her little sister and her new husband. With arms wrapped around each other, affectionate gaze shared only between them, the rest of the world is merely white noise. Even when they sway much too slow for the upbeat music, the absurdity of their movements are so in sync that Riza thinks the music should match their tempo instead.

"Riza," a deep timbre whispers her name, and Riza's musing leaves her. As he scoots his chair closer, his slick back hair unruffles itself, bangs poking her on the face when he leans forward.

A light chuckle escapes her throat, and she feels electric when his fingers unexpectedly brush her skin. She mimics his tone with a smile, "Roy."

There's a significant look about his face when he lingers soft touches at the nape of her neck. With parting lips mouthing her name, his eyes pierce a mesmerizing gaze that lulls her into a spell. Then, as a light squeeze of her hand speaks affection, Roy's lungs heave a twitchy breath, "Riza, I know we barely discussed  _this_ , but I am ready. Well, I've been ready for a while actually..."

Sensing a pause in her heart, her brows furrow with curiosity, "Roy, what are you talking about?"

His voice speaks with eager as he steadily holds her gaze, "Let's move in together."

A pregnant pause hangs in the air. His heart is pounding like a speeding train as he treads each second with suspense. But what seems like a silent rejection to Roy means something entirely different to Riza when her cheeks redden from screaming with glee. And before Roy can utter another word, she cups his cheek and removes the air of doubt with a chaste kiss. Answering sheepishly, her hazel eyes glint with fondness under muted pendant lights, a confident lilt in her voice, "I can't wait to."

 

* * *

 

**9:35PM**

The string lights above them reflect the shadows of their steps, highlighting his terrible footwork. But he insists to dance the rest of the night away, because this is the only way for him to escape the congratulatory conversations and keep his bride to himself.

Edward has always been an impulsive man. Often beyond help, according to his brother. His impulsivity displays prominently when he returned to university the week after his proposal. The questions his classmates posed him had revolved around their relationship: How many years did you date? What do you do for Valentine's Day and Thanksgiving and Christmas? Did you live together before you propose? And so on and so forth.

His answers to all of the above paint a less than ideal relationship. But even with the disapproving stare about their faces, Edward trots away with his head up high, a smug smile across his lips, because words can only explain so much of Winry's significance to Edward. Scrutiny aside, he doesn't give a fuck about anything else as long as the amazing woman is by his side.

"Ed, why are you staring at me like that?"

Ed tightens the grip on her waist, the wide grin on his face highlighting his pink cheeks. "You're my wife..."

Eliciting a light chuckle, Winry replies fondly, "Yes, I'm your wife..."

"I can't believe you're my wife…"

"Ed, are you feeling alright?" she asks lightheartedly, a playful giggle from the throat.

Without caution, Ed pulls her body to his, nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, setting her cheeks on fire. "Winry, I just want to let you know… please don't hog the blanket when we sleep. I get cold at night."

Gripping his shirt in her hand, she laughs outwardly, endearingly. "Oh my god! You are unbelievable!"

"Do that and I'll make you breakfast in bed on the weekends..."

"Fine, I accept. But if I pour you a glass of milk, you have to drink it," Winry giggles, planting a half moon onto his chest.

"Damn, you got me," Breathing heat on her skin, he leans his forehead on her shoulder, wrapping gentle hands around her waist.

Sighing at her husband's silly antics, Winry thinks to herself that she won't be short on laughter and giggles for the rest of her life.

 

* * *

 

**11:59PM**

Goodbyes and goodnights ring from beyond the fenced lawn as the last of the guests take their leave. As the night clings over the horizon, the ocean air conveniently turns chilly, prompting Edward to wrap an arm around Winry, and Roy to cover his jacket around Riza. In all of the opportune turn of event, Izumi and her husband have also forgotten the baby blanket by their reception table, and the resourceful Olivier uses the wooly material to cover her shuddering shoulders without a second thought.

Clutching onto Edward's fingers over her shoulder, Winry asks her sister curiously, "What did you tell Mason, Liv? He looked pretty heartbroken when he left."

Olivier shrugs, "I just said that it won't work out between us. He's a nice guy, but I can't see myself dating someone so...  _normal_. That and my crazy work hours will make sure we'll never see each other."

"Well, if it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. I'm sure there are other men out there who will fit into your hectic schedule," Riza replies with a reassuring smile while looping an arm around Roy's.

"Hey Winry, you said you were going to seat him next to me, but he was sitting on the opposite side. Why was that?" Her curiosity surfaces like a petulant child.

"I said that  _months_  ago.  _A lot_  has changed since. And isn't it convenient that I didn't seat you two together? You said things aren't going to work out anyway," Winry answers nonchalantly, deflecting her question by holding Edward's gaze.

Edward chimes in mockingly, "You should be glad someone  _normal_  wants to date you."

Olivier merely shoots him a death glare, "You're lucky it's your wedding day and I care about my sister. Otherwise I would twist your neck right now, you little runt!" Barely a moment has passed, but Olivier can't stifle the burst of laughter as she discerns uneasiness washing over his face.

Delightful bickering turns into amicable chatter, and each couple starts to cling onto each other as exhaustion rolls in. But with the stars and the moon illuminating brighter than artificial city lights, they find the last of their energy to guide them towards their limousine.

Approaching their ride in a leisurely gait, Olivier's steps falter instantly at the sight of something unanticipated. Her breath hitches in her lungs, and her heart momentarily stops beating in her chest. Bridesmaid bouquet held over her stomach, Olivier's floor-length gown completes the picture of a damsel in distress.

Leaning against the parking lot railing, the man's white hair shines under the moonlight. An excited smile settles on his face, reaching his yearning amber eyes. His hands are in his pocket with a slight tremble, evidence of the amount of time in which he waits. When he finally takes them out, the familiar glint on his ring finger is no longer present, stilling Olivier's heart momentarily.

There's a million questions that need answers. But as a rush of blood runs through her brain, it suspends every word in her throat. Searching her sisters' expression for respite at the surprising turn of event, Riza and Winry merely flash her a knowing smile before nodding in approval at the man before her.

With only warm silence in tow, Olivier returns her sisters a grateful smile. Turning to face the one man who has always held her heart, she lets the delight in her features speak on her behalf as she jogs towards Miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, I would love to hear your comments. Again, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this series as much as I enjoyed writing it <3\. Until next time :)
> 
> I'm also on the last couple chapters of my Mermaid AU series [Into the Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15224663/chapters/35311769) (rated E for some smutty chapters). If you're looking to read some heavy Royai, including family secrets, deception, and father-daughter relationship, please give this fic some love. I promise the story is nothing like The Little Mermaid, because I'd like to think I can be somewhat creative even with the many mermaid stories in circulation. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/kudos are much appreciated :) Or if you'd like to shoot me a DM with feedback/ideas/anything at all, feel free to do so on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ruikosakuragi).


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